My Prisoner
by chris locke
Summary: Belarus is more obsessed than ever with her older brother, and she will not tolerate anyone else getting close to him. But, then again, he and America are just friends, right? Bad summary :P Country and human names used. Russia/America ftw
1. The Question

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. Well, except for this computer, and the main plot of the following story. Other than that...nothing._

_I love love love love Hetalia and love love love love any Alfred/Ivan pairing (or any other pairing, I like them all :D). Whatever._

_This is gonna be guy/guy, boy/boy, shonen ai, yaoi, gay or whatever term you use for it. Deal with it. _

_..._

The Allied meeting had just ended, and everyone in the conference room was getting ready to leave. Russia stayed in his chair for a few more moments, like he always did, and America was packing up some papers into a large briefcase. England was still mulling over the last decision that had been made by the group, and France was talking at China incessantly as they walked out the door.

Eventually England left, still muttering something about how America had no morals, and hadn't he taught him better? America was still putting things into his briefcase, although they looked like the same things he'd been working on just minutes before. He looked up once China, France and England had left, an expression of relief on his face.

Russia stood up and started to walk to the door, but America caught him by the sleeve. Surprised, the taller man turned around.

"Sorry…" America began, "But I need to talk to you…"

"What is it?"

"I normally wouldn't even think of asking a commie like you something like this, but I already asked everyone else and they just gave me crap answers, so I guess I'll ask you now…"

"Yes?"

America looked down. "I doubt you'd know, but how do you…well, you see, I…"

Russia raised his eyebrows. America was obviously having a hard time saying whatever it was he wanted.

"I sorta…how do you ask someone out?"

Russia's eyes widened. America liked someone?

"Who is it?"

America opened his mouth, then shut it again. "That's not important."

"It is very important, as each person requires a different approach."

"Like I'd tell you anything," America said quickly.

"Then I am afraid I cannot help."

Russia turned to leave. America looked back at his briefcase before sighing and reaching for Russia's sleeve again.

"_Could_ you help me?" he asked slowly. Russia looked at him, a pleasant expression on his face.

"Of course."

"Hm…why would you?"

"It is best not to question the motives of a kind offer," Russia said simply.

America looked down. "I wasn't exactly expecting you to say yes."

"I have nowhere to be, so why not?"

"Okay," America said, "Well, at the last international meeting I met this girl…uh…she and I only talked, like, once, but I, uh…"

"You would like to get closer to her."

America winced at the words. "Yeah."

"Who is this girl?"

"Hungary."

Russia smiled. "I believe I know her."

"So, I was just wonder how…one asked someone on a date…not like I haven't done it before!"

"I see," Russia said with a smile. "Well, I find that practice makes everything easier. Pretend for a moment that I am Hungary."

A look of horror flickered across America's face as he looked Russia over. "That's not possible."

"You believe in aliens, you must have some imagination."

"Yeah, but aliens are real…and you're not exactly a girl."

"This is where the imagination comes in."

"Isn't this a little awkward?" America asked quietly, looking toward the door. Russia nodded. America sighed and sat down in one of the chairs around the conference table.

"Okay, I'll give it a shot."

"Good." Russia sat down in a chair next to America's turning it to face the shorter man. "Begin whenever you wish."

America looked over Russia's face, trying to find some way to relate the creepy, tall man to the girl he'd met just a few days before. It was difficult, to say the least.

"Um…well, we would be talking about something beforehand, I suppose…" America said.

"What would you like to talk about, then?"

"I dunno…the weather?"

Russia chuckled. "Well, how is the weather?"

"Good, I guess. You know, you don't actually have to do this…" America scratched the back of his head.

"As I said, I have nothing better to do."

America sighed. "Okay, let's try this again. I guess just being blunt would be the easiest, right?"

"With Hungary, most likely."

"Okay then…well…would you like to hang out sometime?"

"America, are you planning to be a love interest or a casual friend?"

"I'm trying! It's just…"

Russia shook his head. "No 'It's just' here. Continue."

America looked down at his knees. Why was he doing this? What would this help?

"Well, I was wondering…would you…go out…with me?"

Russia smiled, his pale purple eyes sparkling. "I would be delighted. Where?"

"Um…I dunno…my place?"

"What time?"

"Uh, Russia, I don't know. Isn't that it?"

"What time?" Russia repeated, pretending like America had never spoken.

"Seven? Tomorrow? I don't know."

"Okay then. I'll be there," Russia said, looking happily at America. Then he stood up and began to leave. "I'll look forward to it."

"Where are you going?" America asked, eyebrows furrowed. What had just happened? Why was Russia still acting?

There was no answer, and the taller man was gone. America stared at the doorway for a second, half-expecting Russia to come back. He didn't. America stood up slowly and went to get his briefcase. As he left the room, he looked down the hallway to both of his sides. Nobody was there.

_Creepy guy,_ America thought as he walked down the hall, still confused.

...

Russia walked down the street, humming quietly to himself. He was still a bit giddy regarding what he had just done. He had just procured a date with America. The sad thing was that it wasn't really a date, that the time and place that America had given were simply filler and nothing more.

Then again, what if Russia were to pretend like it was a real date, and come to America's house at the suggested time on the suggested day…what would happen then? Would America be confused and kick him out, or would they just be able to "hang out" as he had said? Yes, it would be that. Hanging out would be far less offensive than a date.

"So, America, we'll 'hang out' tomorrow," Russia mused. "That will be interesting."

"Ivan!"

Russia froze at the voice. He heard footsteps echoing on the street behind him, and he immediately knew who it was. He took in a sharp breath and kept walking.

"Don't walk away! I'd like to talk with you!"

Russia still didn't respond. He knew that if he did, things would become bad fast. Then again, if he didn't say something, he might get hurt…

"Well, at least say hello to your own sister!"

Russia sighed. "Hello, Natalia."

He turned around slowly to see his sister, Belarus, standing behind him. She was reaching for Russia's hand, which he withdrew quickly.

"Oh, come on. That's no fun. You can't lie to yourself forever."

"I don't lie."

"Sure. But in your heart you know you want me just as much as I—"

"I must be going. I am supposed to be somewhere." It was the excuse Russia had picked up from the other nations.

"Well then, I can go with you." Belarus grabbed Russia's arm and stepped toward him. "That, or you can stay here," she said softly.

Russia jerked his arm out of her grip. "I'm sorry, I must go."

Belarus gave him a look that made him want to run away. He knew, however, that running was not an option when it came to his sister. She would just find him. And then she would be angry. Instead, he turned and began to walk away as calmly as possible. Maybe she'd leave him alone for today…

No such luck. Russia had barely gone a meter when Belarus grabbed his hand and jerked him back. He whirled around just as her other hand came up to his face. Her black glove cradled his jaw.

"You really don't have to go, onii-san." Belarus only used that term now when she was trying to get her way.

Russia was about to step back when he saw that in the hand that held his there was a knife. He silently cursed himself. He had been so caught up in getting a date with America that he had forgotten his water pipe in the conference room.

"Now, why don't you just stay here, with me?" Belarus looked up at Russia, a half-smile on her face. She tightened her grip on his face and pulled his head down toward hers. He pulled back, but his sister moved the knife in her hand dangerously.

Their lips met only for a second before Russia stepped back. Belarus smiled almost evilly, and then she stepped toward him.

"You liked that, didn't you?"

Russia didn't answer. He started to walk away, but of course his sister wouldn't allow that.

"Ivan! Please don't leave me," she said quietly. She was probably hoping that the tenderness would affect Russia in some way. He supposed that she didn't know him so well after all.

He kept walking. "Okay, walk away now. Just promise me that there isn't anyone else!"

Russia still didn't answer. Belarus sighed sharply before speaking one more time.

"And if there is anybody, you can't really expect them to stay around very long. Not if I can help it."

Russia turned around, but Belarus was already gone. He took a deep breath before heading back to the conference room. He needed to keep his water pipe with him at all times.

...

America woke up at two in the afternoon, but that was probably because of the radio the night before. There had been a special marathon of one of his favorite programs, and who was he not to listen for eight or nine hours? He couldn't just let the opportunity go to waste.

Groggily he got up and set off to make breakfast. A couple eggs and pieces of toast later he was a bit more awake. The sky was overcast, and it looked like it might rain. America was glad. It meant that he didn't have to do anything important today.

"Gaaaah…" he said, stretching. He then realized that even though he wouldn't be doing much he should still get dressed in something other than pajamas.

He went into his room, heading straight for the dresser. Opening the first drawer, he pulled out a pair of boxers and flung them onto the bed behind him. They hit the wall and fell down in between the wall and the bed. America then pulled out a plain green shirt and tossed it in the same fashion. It fell just short of the bed, one arm slapping the blanket before sliding down.

Last but not least, America pulled from the dresser a pair of pants. Instead of throwing them, he took them with him to the bed, ignoring the still-open drawer.

As he changed he hummed something. It was like a cross between "God Bless America" and "American Patrol." When he was finished he let out a huff of air and got up. He was about to go look in the mirror, but as he was walking to it he stopped. With a smile he went to the dresser and pulled out a pair of socks.

He slipped them on quickly and grinned. America pumped his arms as though dancing before going into the corner of his room. He started to run a little, stopping just in time to slide in front of the mirror. His untucked shirttails flew out behind him, and he put his arms out as though he was about to give a hug.

The only flaw in this idea was the fact that a small box was sitting on the floor, and America did not see it. He slid right into it, losing his balance and falling flat on his face. He made a small noise, sitting up quickly.

"Stupid box…" he mumbled, kicking it under the bed. It hit something else hidden under there, and made a thud.

America got up and looked in the mirror, now uninterested as to how he looked. If he couldn't slide in front of the mirror, he didn't need to look in it at all.

As he left his room, America looked at the time. Almost three-thirty.

"Well, too late to do anything productive!" he said happily as he sat down in front of the radio. He flipped it on and then stood up again, wondering why he'd sat down in the first place. He went out the door and picked up the newspaper from the lawn. Then he went inside to go read.

And so the hours went, America doing virtually nothing with them. He lounged around twiddling his thumbs until the clock struck seven.

The moment the second hand hit the twelve, there was a knock on the door. America looked up from the puzzle he was doing. It was raining pretty hard outside. Who the heck would be at the door?

He stood up and walked to the door. America then unlocked it and opened it. At first all he saw was rain.

Then, the figure made itself apparent. It was much taller than he was, and was carrying a water pipe.

"Hello, America," Russia said happily.

...

_A/N: Okay, first chapter done. Yeah, not much going on yet. But don't touch that remote just yet, there's more to come. (Unless I forget...pssh, who forgets anything?)_

_You point out mistakes or typos and I'll love you 3_

_Please review, I eat them and need the fuel (nomnom). _


	2. The Capture

_Disclaimer: Still don't own anything. I'll keep you posted._

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed already :)_

_And so...here is the second chapter...dun dun duuuuh..._

...

Belarus watched from her spot in the bushes across the street as Russia knocked on America's door. Lifting her binoculars, she saw the door open, and America greeted her brother. Russia talked with the other man for a moment before walking in.

Belarus snarled and threw the binoculars to the ground. Russia had _promised _that he didn't have anyone else. Didn't he love her? What the hell was he thinking?

Well, he hadn't quite promised…but he hadn't _not_ promised! I mean, he'd kissed her, right? All those times he'd seemed uncomfortable or had run away or hidden in a locked room…he was just playing hard to get, right? He still loved her. I mean, she was his sister! How could he not?

"Russia, what are you doing?" she whispered to herself.

Suddenly, a horrible thought hit her. What if America was the one going after her precious Russia? What if he had organized this…this meeting?

Belarus picked up the binoculars again, pointing them at America's door. The rain was starting to get pretty bad, but she didn't care. She looked through, gritting her teeth. America would not get away with this…this blasphemy! That was a nice word. She was God and this was blasphemy.

After a moment she left her hiding place and slowly walked to the window. Hiding herself as well as possible, she looked into the living room. America and Russia were talking about something. America was probably flirting, that asshole. Belarus ducked down and sat with her back against the outside wall. There was a drip coming from the ledge over her head, sending a large cold drop onto the top of her head every few seconds.

She had to get rid of America some way. But if Russia was his friend, then that would have to be done quickly. Quickly she looked in through the window again. Russia was sitting down across from America, who was laughing about something. More flirting, most likely.

Something had to be done about this situation, she decided. She'd have to get rid of America without Russia knowing. She'd have to lure him away and then finish him off. Belarus reached into the pocket on her dress and pulled out her kitchen knife.

No. If she killed America with the knife, Russia would know that it was her. That would not be good. She had to find another weapon, something that her brother would never be able to recognize.

There was a small tool shed next to the garden behind the house. Belarus got up and ran quickly toward it. It was locked, but a swift kick showed the lock to be old and rusty. It cracked, falling to the ground. Belarus looked around to see if anyone had heard the noise before opening the door and stepping inside.

There were all the usual farming implements that a usual garden shed contained. Belarus picked up a rake, testing its weight. It was light enough, and she gripped it tightly before slamming it into the wooden floor of the shed. It bounced off, leaving only a small trail of indents in the wood. Belarus dropped it and picked up an axe. It was a bit heavy, and when she swung it into the floor she couldn't get it back out. That was out of the question.

Finally, Belarus's eyes rested on a wooden handle sticking up behind a lawnmower. She reached and picked it up, surprised by its lightness. As its blade came into the light, Belarus smiled.

It was a scythe, and while she wondered for a moment why there would be a scythe in a tiny garden shed it was overshadowed by her happiness. She slammed the end into the wood, and it sunk in. When she pulled it out, it didn't stick nearly as much as the heavy axe. This was her weapon, she was sure.

She smiled as she looked back at the house. Quickly she left the shed. Being careful not to make any noise, she went back to the window. America and Russia were still talking. Perfect.

Belarus looked up at the house. America would have to die inside, she decided. Luring him out of the house would be too difficult, and there was more of a chance that she would be seen.

So, a smile playing on her lips, Belarus walked around to the window of an empty room. She put her foot on the ledge and stepped up, scythe in hand.

...

"Russia? What are you doing here?"

America stared up in confusion at the tall man in front of him. Russia just smiled as he always did.

"I believe we have a 'date,'" he said calmly, still smiling.

America gaped for a second. "That was just a…that wasn't real!"

"Then we shall not call it a date. How about 'hanging out?' Is that less offensive?"

"Uh…well…okay. Come in, I guess. It's raining pretty hard out there."

Russia nodded and stepped in. His head almost hit the top of the doorway, and America saw that he was carrying an umbrella. It was pink.

"Russia? Why is…" America tried not to snicker, "Why is your umbrella…pink?"

Russia looked down at it. "It is Ukraine's. I am borrowing it."

America raised his eyebrows. "Sure."

"I don't lie."

America sighed. "Always got to ruin a joke, huh?"

"Yes."

There was no way to get past this guy, America decided. So he led the taller man into his living room. It was a light pastel brown, Lithuania's influence. The chairs were all light beige, with a brown lining. Even the carpet was white and brown, with designs barely noticeable with the human eye. It was all frustratingly inoffensive.

"Sit," America said. As Russia sat, America began to laugh.

"What is it?" Russia asked.

"You match the chair," America said, pointing to the other man's coat. It was almost the exact same shade as the chair he was sitting in.

"So I do," Russia mused, "Well, you will not have to worry if I shed any fur, da?"

At first America stared at Russia, but then he burst out in laughter. Russia had made a joke? That was almost funnier than the joke itself.

Russia smiled. "It is true. In this warmer climate I tend to shed more."

America kept laughing. Russia looked around the room, his eyes lingering at the window behind America.

"I just saw something move outside your window," he said.

"What?"

"Something moved, just outside that window," Russia explained, pointing.

America looked. "I don't see anything."

"Of course not, it already left."

"Well then, we don't have much to worry about."

Suddenly, there was a crash outside. Russia stood up quickly, but America didn't.

"You heard that, didn't you?" Russia asked, eyes locked on the window.

"It's just a dog. Happens all the time. You get worked up easily, don't you?"

Russia took a deep breath and sat back down. "I suppose I do."

"Okay then. Just calm down. You wanted to hang out, right? I'll get something to eat."

"No, just stay here. I have already eaten, and you probably have as well. Let us just talk."

America raised one eyebrow. "Okay then. What do you want to talk about?"

Russia smiled. "The weather?"

America laughed. "Well then, how is the weather?"

"At the moment? Not very good at all. You cannot see?"

They both laughed. Russia gestured around the room. "These colors, I don't think you like them."

America looked around. "Not really. Lithuania picked them out. Said they were 'neutral.'"

"Toris is very neutral himself, is he not?"

"Pretty much. And he's just so darn nice, you know?"

"I am aware."

"Well, yeah, I guess you would—"

America was cut off by a loud thumping noise. Russia immediately stood up. This time, America did, too.

"It's coming from upstairs," Russia said.

"I'll go check it out. You stay here," America said, starting toward the door.

The thumping came again.

"It's probably just something stupid, like a box or something." America knew firsthand how stupid boxes could be.

"I should go with you," Russia said, following America, who had disappeared down the hallway.

The two walked up the stairs as the thumping continued, and down the hallway. Russia looked into each room, half expecting something to jump out.

The thumping sounded one more time. America silently pointed at the room at the far end of the hall. He beckoned for Russia to follow him as he approached it.

He stopped in the doorway, looking around at the room. It seemed empty enough, and all the windows were shut. Slowly he stepped inside, Russia right behind him.

...

Belarus climbed in through a window on the second story, making sure to close it behind her. She held her scythe like the grim reaper, blade out. The first step of her makeshift plan was in place.

She opened the door of the room so that there was a bit of space behind it, and then she went to the middle of the floor. Taking a deep breath, she pounded the butt of the scythe into the floor three times. The second step of the plan was in action.

There was no response from anyone as far as she could hear, so she hit the floor again. That's when she heard the footsteps, almost inaudible, from the room below.

She smiled as she pounded the floor again. There were footsteps on the stair. Quickly she ducked behind the door, scythe in hand. One last time, she struck the floor. Then she became still.

The footsteps stopped in the doorway for a moment, but then they continued into the room. Belarus smiled, took a deep breath again and slammed the door shut.

America spun around as the door shut behind him. In front of it stood a girl, one he had seen before. Russia was right outside the door.

The girl was carrying a scythe.

"Who are you?" he demanded, taking a step back. The girl followed him, stepping forward. She had a horrible smile on her face.

"That isn't important," she whispered menacingly.

"America?" Russia's voice came from outside the door. The girl gasped and spun around just as Russia opened the door.

"America? What's wrong?" Russia stopped as he saw his sister. His eyes traveled to her scythe, growing wide.

"Ivan?" she asked in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same for you, Natalia!" Russia stared at her in horror.

"You were supposed to be downstairs!" Russia's sister yelled. She stepped toward Russia desperately. "Just stay downstairs! This is none of your business!"

Russia stepped back, eyes locked on the scythe. "What are you doing with that?"

"Nothing! Now, just please leave, Ivan. I love you and I don't want—"

"No."

"What are you saying?" Belarus asked, clutching her scythe. Why did her brother have to be so difficult _now_ of all times?

"You're planning to do something to America, are you not?"

"Of course not, now, I just wanted to talk…"

"With a giant farming implement?" America asked. He was sitting on the bed, clutching his knees.

"Just shut up!" Belarus yelled, swinging her scythe dangerously. It felt good to have such a powerful weapon at her disposal.

"Natalia, please calm down," Russia said, gripping his water pipe in both hands. He'd never hit her with it, she knew that.

America was standing up, and Belarus was angry enough with him already. She swung the scythe at him, and the blade barely missed him. He stumbled back onto the bed, pushing himself back until he hit the wall.

"Calm down? How can I calm down when you're in here just chatting it up with…" Belarus trailed off, unsure what to refer to America as. Certainly not his name. That would be too nice.

"We were just talking," America said. Belarus had had enough of him.

"Shut up!" she yelled, walking toward the bed. She raised the scythe over her head, preparing to strike.

Russia came up behind her with his pipe. She waited half a second longer than she'd have liked to before pushing the handle of the scythe back into her brother's gut. He fell backwards, and she took the time to slam the blunt edge of the blade into America's head. He slumped down and Belarus turned back to Russia.

He was starting to stand up again, and she ran past him, to the door. She passed him, grabbing his water pipe. She jerked it from his hands and ran past the doorframe. As he got to his feet she locked the outside of the knob.

"Okay then, stay with him! Do whatever! Just know that I'm the only one who will ever really love you!"

She slammed the door shut, the lock snapping into place.

...

_What will happen next? Will Russia and America make it out alive? Tune in next week to find out!_

_If you find any mistakes I'll love you 3_

_Please review, I eat them and I'm still hungry! :)_


	3. The Regrets

_Disclaimer: Wait a minute...I think I might own Hetalia now! Oh, wait...sorry, false alarm._

_Thank you to people who reviewed the previous chapters :)_

_And so, with no further introduction, enjoy Chapter 3._

...

Belarus stood with her back to the door for a second before sinking to the ground. She couldn't really tell what was happening anymore. From inside the room behind her she heard some talking. Russia was trying to wake America up.

She had hit America hard, hadn't she? So hard that he wasn't waking up. Not quite what she'd been aiming for, but she just hadn't been able to bring herself to kill him right then. And she'd hit her brother.

That was the first time, the first time she'd ever actually hurt him. And that was a way to go out in style, jabbing him in the gut with the butt of a scythe. Belarus's nose started stinging.

No, not crying. Not over this. The tears began to well up in her eyes, and she took in a shaky breath. She couldn't cry now. This was just a little thing, hitting Russia. He wasn't really hurt, right? But he'd fallen down, and it was so hard to hurt him…

"Damn it," Belarus whispered, wiping the tears from her eyes. Now she was really crying. It wasn't ladylike, not at all. Then again, what did she care for what was ladylike or not? She was clutching a weapon after knocking out and injuring two grown men. She wasn't a lady.

She sniffled once before standing up. She stared at her scythe for a moment, and when she blinked it blurred out of focus. She wiped her eyes again.

After a moment she looked back at the door. It took all of her willpower not to press her ear to the door, but she knew that they wouldn't have done much yet. Russia's shoulders would be too big to get out through the window, so she had enough time to seal it off before America woke up.

The idea of a solid plan calmed Belarus's nerves a bit, and she felt her breath evening out. It's what she did when things started getting overwhelming. She'd apply herself entirely to one task. Sure, it made her blind to everything else, but that included the pain.

Usually the task was making sure she was near her brother. She would go wherever he was, just to watch him. He was so beautiful, everything he did. He was always smiling, and he would never do anything to hurt her.

But now she'd crossed that invisible line, hurting him. There was no reason for him not to now. He was much stronger than she was, and he could easily get past her. But she couldn't hurt him again. Once was too much already.

There she was, thinking again. Quickly Belarus shook her head and started down the stairs. She had to go patch up those windows so nobody could get in or out. She was now working with a completely improvised plan. It mostly entailed locking them in that room until they got sick of each other, never wanted to see the other again. When that happened she could apologize, show Ivan that she really did love him, and then maybe he might love her back. Then they could get married and everything would be okay.

Belarus left the house and went around to the back. The windows were right there. Now she just had to get some materials to close it off with. Everything would be okay soon, she promised herself. She just had to get one thing done at a time.

...

"America!" Russia yelled, wincing as he moved. The handle of his sister's weapon had hit him in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. America wasn't moving.

He rushed to the bed, picking the other man up by his shoulders into a sitting position. There was blood trickling down around his right eye, and his head was limp. Immediately Russia began to panic.

He skimmed his eyes over the room, looking for something to stop the bleeding with. His eyes stopped on the dresser, and he jumped up to go toward it. His chest still hurt, but that was overshadowed by the sight of America, possibly dead.

He threw open a few of the drawers, quickly digging through them. After a second he found a long-sleeved t-shirt, and he pulled it out. He went back to the bed, where America was still leaning against the wall.

"Mm…Russia?"

It was America. Immediately Russia started wrapping the shirt around the other man's head tightly, putting pressure on the wound.

"Shh…" Russia whispered, setting America down on a pillow. "Don't speak. Belarus is still outside the door."

America didn't respond. He was breathing, that was good. Speaking even. That was better. His words hadn't been too slurred either, so that mean that he might not have a concussion. If he did, things could get bad fast.

"What happened?" America asked softly.

"You were unconscious for a second. Nothing more."

"But I got hit, right?" he wasn't stumbling too much over words. That was good.

"No, now relax."

"Then why does my head hurt?" America asked, trying to sit up. Russia was sitting on the edge of the bed, and he pushed the other man back down.

"Don't get up. You just fell."

"Belarus hit me, though. I remember."

"You're imagining things. Just lie down."

America sat up fully, avoiding Russia's hand as he tried to push him back down. "What the heck is on my head?"

"It's just for safety."

"Am I bleeding? Holy crap, I'm bleeding!"

America was trying to take the wrap on his head off now. Russia grabbed his wrists, pinning them in front of him on the bed.

"Don't touch that or you _will_ begin bleeding," Russia said sharply.

"So I'm bleeding?"

Russia sighed. "Yes. Now stop being hazardous to your own health and lie down."

America wrestled his hands out of Russia's grip. "I'm okay! It stopped already."

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Russia watched him for a moment before standing. He was so much like a small child. Russia could be the same at times.

Suddenly, there was a small thud on the floor. Russia's eyes snapped to the door. Under the crack, there was a small tube. It was letting something into the room.

"What the heck is that?" America asked.

"I don't know…" Russia said quietly, stepping closer. It didn't seem like the tube was doing anything, but that was probably not true.

After a few seconds, Russia started to feel a bit tired, like it was the end of the day. His limbs were feeling heavy.

"Gas," he said, looking up to America. The other man's eyes were closing. Russia took a quick breath and held it, but it was too late. He felt too tired to hold his breath, and he sat down on the floor. His vision began to blur a little, and slowly he fell asleep…

...

Belarus made sure that the door was sealed with a caulk she had found in America's house before putting the tube down under the crack by the floor. If she was going to do anything to the windows, she wouldn't be able to do so with the two men in the room awake. At least she didn't have to hit anyone again, she rationalized. No violence.

After a minute or two, she put on her military gas mask (courtesy of Lithuania, bless his soul) and took out the tube. Quickly she capped it and set it aside.

Now she had to find something to seal the windows with. Wood boards would be her best bet, but they might be difficult to obtain. First things first, however, she needed to get nails and a hammer. Nothing would work without these.

That was simple enough, getting the tools. She found a hammer in the same tool shed that had held the scythe, and there was a box of nails next to it. It was as though everything had been laid out for her right there. Then it was time to find wood.

Since there were no easy wooden boards accessible, Belarus decided that she needed to make her own. She liked this working, it kept her mind off of what she was really doing. All she had to do was find a hammer and nails. All she had to do was find wood. All she had to do was nail the wood to the house. It was easy, three simple steps.

She picked up the axe that she had abandoned before and set to work on the wall of the tool shed. After a few swings she got used to the tool's weight and was able to use it efficiently. Just two windows, that's all she had to cut for.

When she was done, she climbed up onto the roof of the house. The second story was inset a little, so there was a ledge for her to stand on as she worked. First she opened the window, stepping back to let the gas dissipate.

That took a few minutes, so she used those to make sure that the boards were steady. They were sufficiently so, and she began nailing them to the sides of the window. She could only throw up one piece of wood to the roof at a time, so the working was slow.

The second window was more difficult. There was no convenient ledge to use, so she had to scour the house for a ladder. The methodical work was happy, and she even found herself whistling as she nailed the boards in. It was a song she had learned from Russia when they were both young, and it made her think of him. Still, she made herself look away whenever she felt the urge to look into the room. Doing so would only make her regret things that she didn't have time to regret.

After about an hour she was done. She stepped down the ladder and looked up to admire her handiwork. There was no way that anyone could get through both the window and the wood. It would take something heavy moving at a high speed to do so. And she had taken Ivan's water pipe.

Ivan. He would be waking up soon. If she looked through the tiny space at the bottom of the door where she had put the tube, she would be able to see part of him. That would be enough to settle her mind for a while.

...

The world was suddenly in focus, as though Russia had just woken up from sleep. He felt a bit drowsy and nauseous, and for a second he didn't know where he was.

"Russia?" a voice asked.

Russia looked around, his head pounding. "Hm?"

"Good, you're finally awake."

He opened his eyes fully to see America leaning over him. The wrap was gone from his head, but he wasn't bleeding anymore.

"Where's Belarus?"

"I don't know. But look, she boarded up the windows."

Russia looked around the room, and indeed, the windows were covered. He sat up, eyes still heavy.

"She used a gas to incapacitate us," he said quietly.

"Yeah. I woke up a few minutes ago. We've been out for a long time."

"Any other developments?"

"She left you food," America said, pointing to the bedside table. On it was a sandwich, nothing special. There was only one.

"How do you know it is for me?" Russia asked slowly.

"Uh…you gotta come see."

Russia stood up and took a deep breath. The nausea hadn't quite left, and the sight of the sandwich didn't help.

America picked it up and showed it to the other man. On the top, in ketchup, was "Ivan." There was a heart on either side. Russia raised his eyebrows.

"So she injures us with a farming tool, drives us unconscious with gas, covers the windows with boards and then leaves me a sandwich?"

America smiled. "Apparently."

...

_Pssh, of course Belarus would have knockout gas. Who doesn't?_

_And don't worry, they are concerned about being trapped, they're just a little giddy on said gas :)_

_If you find any typos I'll love you 3_

_Please review! (nomnomnom...)_


	4. The Situation

_Disclaimer: You know what? I don't own Hetalia, that's what. I don't even know why this is here anymore._

_Thank you thank you THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed! I love you guys!_

_Here you go, the long-awaited chapter 4!_

...

Belarus walked through America's house, running her fingers along the walls as she passed them. The radio was still on, playing something stupid. She quickly turned it off, reveling for a moment in the silence that followed. Then she went to go check on the two men in the room. She had left Ivan a nice little sandwich that she hoped would tide him over until tomorrow. Or at least until she could figure out where everything in the kitchen was.

She walked up the stairs, oddly pleased with herself. She knew that she shouldn't have been, but she was. It was kind of nice to know that her brother was completely under control. Belarus could do anything she wanted now. It was freeing.

She stuck her ear on the door, listening carefully to what was happening inside. She should install some kind of camera, or at least a little window in the door so she could see what was happening inside. A camera would work better, she decided. One with sound, too. That way nothing the two in the room did could go unnoticed.

Muffled voices came from the room, and Belarus decided that she could hear them with greater ease if she knelt down to listen at the crack at the base of the door. The voices were clearer, and she smiled a little as she listened.

"Geez, what the heck did she put in that sandwich?" America's voice asked, disgusted. "It looks like sawdust."

"I'd imagine it is..." Ivan began, pausing, "…granola?"

"Who puts granola on a sandwich?"

"My sister."

Belarus glared at what she could see of America's feet, daring him to say anything more about her sandwich. She had made it with love, and that was all that mattered.

"Um, isn't there ketchup on top?"

"I believe so."

"Granola and _ketchup_?"

"Don't forget the pickles. And grape jam."

America made a noise that sounded like gagging. Belarus fought the urge to burst in and kill him right then and there. No, she had to do something else. Maybe…maybe she could…

"Yes!" she whispered a little too loudly. The talking in the room ceased, and she decided it would be a good time to leave. She walked toward the steps, a wide smile on her face.

Solitary confinement. She could make America go CRAZY. She'd heard about how being cut off from the rest of the world was bad for people. So bad they started talking to themselves and asking for any attention, any whatsoever. And then they'd go insane.

But then there was the problem of Russia. What would she do about him? She'd have to keep him in a room, too, but how would she transport America to another room? Could she manage to solitarily confine both of them? No, confinement wasn't the answer.

So she'd stick to her current plan. Just keep them there until they couldn't stand each other. That's what happened when two people lived in tight quarters with nothing to do. They got so sick of each other, right?

Belarus nodded to herself as she walked around the house again. So Ivan hadn't liked her special sandwich. Whatever. Let bygones be bygones, right? Yep, just let it go.

But she'd make sure to give America a granola/ketchup/pickle/jam sandwich if she decided to feed him at all. Oh, and she'd make sure to soak the bread in that oil that came in the sardine can first. Yeah. Take that, America.

...

"Russia?"

Russia raised his eyebrows at America questioningly.

"We are really trapped in here, aren't we?"

"I believe so."

"This kinda sucks, you know?"

Russia was about to disagree, but he stopped himself. No, it wasn't a bad thing, to be stuck in here with America. Now he could watch Alfred whenever he wanted, he could talk with him, he could be with him…

"You know?"

Russia broke out of his minor fantasy. He looked up at America, smiling as he saw the other nation staring at him.

"Yes, I do. But it isn't…all negative. I suppose."

"What do you mean? Hell, your sis probably isn't going to feed me anyway."

"I mean…nothing. I was just thinking aloud. But I can share whatever food she brings."

"Okay."

There was a bit of an awkward silence. America sat down on the bed, letting himself fall back. His green shirt was bunched up around his waist, but he didn't seem to care. A tiny bit of his torso showed.

Russia had to fight to keep his fingers from touching that spot. It was all he wanted to do…just…he didn't even know. He stared at America longingly, the other completely oblivious. He took a deep breath, shaking his head.

"Sup?"

"Mm…nothing. Just thinking."

"About what?"

Darn America and his nosiness. His adorable nosiness. "How we are going to get out."

"Oh." America stretched his arms up, his shirt coming up higher. Russia felt himself blush. Dammit. He never blushed. Never. He hadn't blushed since he was a child. And anyway, that was just from the cold.

"Hey, aren't you hot in that coat?" America asked, sitting up. His shirt fell back down, and Russia let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"No, I don't really feel warm."

"Your face is bright red, are you sure?"

GODDAMN FACE. Russia shook his head. America was looking at him with actual concern. Before, when they had just been joking about the sandwich, he had been able to laugh and not notice the fact that he was in a locked room with America. Now, it was just too much.

To his horror, he now saw America's hand coming up to touch his forehead. "You don't have a fever, do you?"

"No," Russia said, backing up. "I'm fine."

America shrugged, pulling his hand back. He sighed and stood up, walking over to the boarded window. He looked at the boards before turning back to Russia.

"Um…if you need to…do anything there's a bathroom over there," America said, pointing toward a white door. "I don't think it's locked."

"Okay, thank you."

There was another awkward silence. America stared at Russia for a second before going back to the bed. He propped up a pillow next to the wall and relaxed. Russia watched him breathe for a moment.

"Dude, are you going to just sit on the floor all day?"

Russia realized he hadn't really moved. He was just sitting smack in the middle of the bedroom. It must look a bit awkward. Not that he had ever worried about looking awkward before. His entire persona changed when around America. Usually he was cold, almost cruel. Usually he focused on taking Poland. Usually he wanted to make people cry, make them less than him. But when he was around America…it was like he was a gawky teenager. He couldn't think straight. It sounded like some little middle school crush.

"The floor is rather comfortable," he said lamely.

"Suit yourself," America said, closing his eyes. Now Russia flat-out stared at him. America's hair was such a wonderful color, a light golden yellow, and his features were so delicate compared to the Russian's.

Russia forced himself to look away. It killed him, but it had to be done or else he might have gone into a coma. He looked around the floor, particularly under the bed. There might be something to do there.

Along with a bunch of stacks of magazines and other unreachable containers there was a small cardboard box. Carefully Russia reached under the bed, pulling out the small rectangle.

It didn't have anything on it, like tape, but was sealed in the stupid put-each-flap-over-another way. Russia lightly pulled apart the flaps, accidentally bending one. He opened the box.

Inside, there were photographs. Close to a hundred of them. There was something else sitting on the bottom, but Russia ignored it. He picked up a pile of the photos, skimming through them.

Every single one had America in it. There were pictures of America smiling, America pouting, America with other countries, America at famous landmarks, America falling off out of a rowboat, America and England. There were a lot of the two.

Russia stared at each picture, smiling back at America's face. He looked through the pictures like a child, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"Having fun?"

Russia jumped, eyes wide as they met America's. The other man was leaning on his elbows at the edge of the bed, looking down at the pictures.

"I…I was just…looking and I…"

"You're funny when you stutter," America said, clearly amused. Russia fought back another blush in vain.

"I'm sorry, I should have asked," Russia said, putting the photos back in the box.

"Nah, it's okay. I guess Liet put these all together. Wonder why they're not in the storage closet. That's where everything else is."

America reached into the box, pulling out and dumping all the photos on the floor. He then picked up the box, a smile on his face.

"This is pretty awesome," he said, tilting the box so Russia could see. There was a radio sitting in the bottom.

America picked it up, checking to see if it had power. He turned it on, and sure enough there was a small click as static began to fade in. America, clearly happy, began turning the tuning knob.

Fzzzzzzzz… "…took a lot to…" …fzzzzz… "_…and coca-cola, go down…_" …fzzzzz… "…no, please don't go…" …fzzzzz.

America flicked through the stations too fast for Russia to hear anything. He wouldn't recognize anything anyway. There was some strange music here.

America finally left it on two men talking about something that Russia didn't understand. The blonde nation closed his eyes as he listened, resting on his stomach, head leaning off the bed.

Russia didn't speak, watching America. His head was so close, his face, and his eyes were a moment Russia like leaning in and…no! He couldn't do that. Then he'd only have an enemy until Belarus let them out. Either that or everything would be very uncomfortable between them, possibly forever.

So he backed up, rising to his feet. He coughed quietly before walking into the bathroom. Closing the door, he let out a breath. He looked around, deciding that maybe taking a shower would be for the best. At least he could get away from the room for a while.

...

Belarus heard the water go on upstairs. She was looking through the cabinets in the kitchen, wondering what she'd eat. And what she'd feed to Russia. It had to be something better than the sandwich he hadn't liked earlier, so she'd need more ingredients.

She decided to go see who it was in the shower. She needed to know these things if she was going to be taking care of her brother.

When she got to the room, she looked under the door. There was somebody talking, but it wasn't either Ivan or America. She felt a pang of panic rush through her body before she realized it was a radio.

How they had gotten a radio she had no idea, but she decided that it would be best for Russia. That was the only thing keeping her from storming in there and confiscating it. It would be best for her Vanya.

She scanned the floor, annoyed to find that she saw no feet. She'd actually have to go inside to see who it was. Carefully she unlocked the door, taking a deep breath.

...

America heard the door click, and he jolted up from the bed. Dammit, it was probably Belarus! He didn't want to be caught alone with her. She'd probably kill him. Why did Russia have to go take a shower _now_?

"Crap, crap, crap…" he whispered, looking around. His eyes rested for a half a second on the door to the bathroom. Maybe, just maybe Russia hadn't locked it.

He leapt across the room, throwing the door open. He ducked inside, slamming the door behind him. Just as he did, the door to the room opened, and Belarus walked inside.

"Vanya, is that you in there?"

_Crap,_ America thought, _Russia can't hear her._ "Um…" What did Russia always say? "D-da!"

"Okay, honey. I'll just wait out here for you!"

Oh, God. America's heart nearly froze. Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit…

"America?"

America whirled around. Russia peeked around the shower curtain. His hair was plastered to his head, and it looked a little strange.

"Um…I can explain…"

Russia stared at him for a moment before letting the curtain fall back into place. America sank to the ground, sighing. Why did life have to be so damn difficult?

...

_Oooh, what will happen now?_

_Every time there is an awkward silence, a gay baby is born. Lotsa gay babies here, folks :)_

_If you point out any typos you get a free puppy!_

_Please review! (yummy~!)_


	5. The, er, Misunderstanding

_OMG It's been forever since I updated! Well, I was on vacation until a couple days ago and there was NO INTERNET! For a week and a half! I nearly lost it toward the end. _

_But I perservered, and here is the next chapter of my absolutely fabulous Russia x America story! I guarantee it will be the best thing you've ever read in the history of your life. No? Well, I thought it was pretty good :[_

_Well, without further ado, enjoy!_

...

Russia turned on the water, sighing as the freezing water poured over him. He stood under the spray, waiting for it to turn warm. He needed to get America off of his mind. It was very difficult with the other sitting in the next room over. Very difficult.

"Ah, America, you have no idea…" he whispered to himself, feeling the water warm up.

Suddenly, he heard the door to the hallway open. Someone entered the room. It had to be Belarus. Russia took a deep breath, hoping that she wouldn't come in. He had no such luck, as a second later the door to the bathroom opened.

Russia turned up the water, hoping that the noise could somehow block out his sister's piercing voice.

"Vanya, is that you in there?" she asked. Russia pretended not to hear.

"Um…" a second voice said. A voice that was much closer. "D-da!"

Russia froze. No. It couldn't be. It was impossible. There was no way.

"Okay, honey. I'll just wait out here for you!"

Carefully pulling back the shower curtain to reveal his head, he looked out into the bathroom. "America?" he said in disbelief, watching the other man stare at him wide-eyed.

"Um…I can explain…"

Russia threw the curtain back, plastering himself to the wall of the shower. Oh, God. America was…was in the bathroom…and he was…no…he couldn't be…it was impossible…

He felt his heart speed up, and he swallowed loudly. This wasn't good. He suddenly regretted taking a shower. But if America was in here, that meant that Belarus was out in the room. She was waiting for him to come out. And she'd be wondering where America was. If she saw them both come out at the same time, America might not survive it.

"Am-america?"

There was no answer. Russia took a shaky breath, turning down the water. Maybe America couldn't hear him.

"America?"

There was a pause. "Uh huh?"

"Can you hand me a towel?"

There was a small "Mmhmm." Then a bit of shuffling, and a towel was thrown over the top of the shower. Russia grabbed it, shutting off the water. There was a very awkward silence as he dried himself off. When he was done, he tied the towel around his waist, cautiously stepping into the bathroom proper.

America was sitting in the corner, his back turned. There seemed to be an aura of 'Oh dear God why' hanging around him. Russia didn't say anything, only watching him for a moment. Then he coughed quietly.

"America?"

There was no response. America turned his head a little, eyes closed.

"You are sitting on my clothes."

America looked down, realized he was indeed sitting on Russia's coat, and jumped up. He backed into the toilet, falling down onto the thankfully closed seat.

"Uh, sorry, I was just…um…sorry…" he kept his eyes closed.

"It is okay," Russia said, picking up his clothing. He didn't know how he was managing to keep himself together. Why wasn't he breaking down into hysterics? America was in this tiny room with him, and he was…well, he wasn't clothed.

He looked through his shirt and pants, making sure he had everything. Suddenly, he froze. He knew that he'd forgotten something.

"Er, America?"

America was staring down at his knees, shoulders up. He was doing his best to disappear into the wall, it seemed.

"Y-yeah?"

"Well, ah…" Russia didn't know how to word this. It was very important, very important indeed. "Do you think you could…you see…"

"Vanya? Are you ready?" Belarus asked through the door. She was right on the other side, it appeared.

America froze. He rushed into the shower, hiding behind the curtain. "I'm not here," he whispered.

"Almost ready," Russia said to his sister. He then turned to America, or rather, to the shower curtain. "America, do you think you could…spare a bit of clothing?"

"Do whatever! Just don't let her see me!"

"You don't understand! This bit of clothing…it's a little…vital?"

America poked his head out from behind the curtain. "You mean, like, underwear?"

Russia bit his lip, nodding. Why did America have to be so…so blunt? Sure, it was cute at times, but now it was just irritating. It did get to the point, though.

"It's out there, with _her_."

"I figured as much," Russia said quietly, looking at the door forlornly. Did he really have to go out into the room, in just a towel, with Belarus there? There was no telling what she'd do.

Or maybe he could get her to bring him the clothing…and then he'd never have to leave the bathroom. But what if she came in, and what if she wouldn't leave? It was still his best shot.

"Natalya?" he called through the door.

"Yes, love?"

Russia inwardly winced. "Could you…bring me…" he trailed off. America stared at him in shock.

"Don't do it!" the younger nation hissed, "Don't let her go through my stuff!"

"What do you need, Vanya?"

"I need…a pair of underwear…"

"It's not going to fit you!"

Russia turned around, eyes pleading. "America, please be quiet!"

America crossed his arms like a child, grumbling about how it was _his_ house, _his_ clothing… Russia ignored him. He looked back to the door, biting his lip.

"Oh, don't worry! I brought some of your clothes from home so you wouldn't have to touch America's nasty things! Give me _just_ a second…"

The door to the outside room clicked shut, and the sound of a lock moving could be heard. America peeked out at Russia from behind the shower curtain. His face held an obvious look of relief.

"Good. I'll just leave now and—"

"She locked the bathroom door."

America froze. "What?"

Russia sighed heavily, slumping down. "The door is locked."

"When the hell did she do that?"

"The lock is nice and quiet."

Suddenly, a look of horrific dawning appeared on America's face. Russia watched him carefully, waiting for him to speak.

"That means she's coming in."

Russia stared at America for a moment. What had he said? Russia wasn't sure. He was a bit too busy outlining the younger nation's features with his eyes, marveling in the fact that America's eyes were meeting his, watching him just as much as he was. He wondered how those perfectly shaped, light lips would feel on his…

"What?"

"Dude, she's gonna come in the room!"

"Coming in. You can hide in the shower."

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"But that means she might, you know…stay in here. And you have to change and…and what if she tries something? I don't want to see that!"

"She won't," Russia said, obviously unsure. What if Belarus tried to do something with him around his precious America? What if America got the wrong idea?

"Dammit, man! You're still completely…naked! Why couldn't you just have put on your pants and stuff and just gone out there and got whatever you needed and then none of this would have happened!"

"You were so afraid of my baby sister you were crying."

"Was not!"

Russia sighed. This was getting them nowhere. What they needed now was to figure out how to get past Belarus. She was going to come in there in just a second, and Russia was just in a towel, and America was hiding in the shower. And Belarus was clinically insane.

Ah. Life.

"How about I go out there and hide under the bed or something?" America asked, sounding unexcited at the idea.

"America, the door is locked."

"Oh, yeah."

The door to the room opened, and there were footsteps inside. "Okay, honey, I have your clothes~!" Belarus said in a sing-song voice. America froze, shrinking back behind the shower curtain.

The bathroom door unlocked and Belarus's head poked in. Russia stood in front of the shower, gripping the towel tightly around his waist. He gritted his teeth as his sister's eyes flashed. She quickly stepped inside, lightly closing the door behind her.

"I have your clothes," she said quietly.

Russia took a deep breath, trying not to let his fear show. "Thank you." He held out his hand expectantly.

Belarus giggled. "Not quite yet. Where's he?" There was no question as to who 'he' was.

"I-I don't know."

"Well then."

Russia swallowed. "May I please have my, er, clothing?"

Belarus grinned. It was not good when she grinned. "You can go for a little while without them," she said happily.

Suddenly she was right up in front of him. She was like a banana spider. As big as your hand and so fast you couldn't see her. Well, not exactly like a banana spider. But the analogy was still good.

"You look so nice like this, I don't know if I _should_ give you anything." She brought her finger up to Russia's chest, slowly dragging it down to his belly button.

He flinched back, his heels hitting the tub. He immediately whirled around, making sure America couldn't be seen. There was no lump in the curtain, and he had more important things to worry about.

Belarus was in front of him again, smiling up at him. Russia's heart began to beat faster. No. She wouldn't try anything drastic _now_ of all times, would she?

Her hand came back up to Russia's chest, slowly sliding up to his face. She cupped his jaw, her fingers gripping just enough to pull his head down to hers. Her other hand wrapped around his waist, landing lightly on the small of his back. He stiffened up, eyes wide.

"You wouldn't do…anything…with, er, America in the other room…right?"

"Ah, nii-san, you're adorable when you stutter," she whispered. She pulled Russia's face down onto hers, their lips mashing together.

Russia ripped himself away, trying to step back. His feet hit the edge of the bathtub, sending him flying back. Oh God, no.

He landed hard in the tub. Well, not in the tub. On something. Someone. America. Crap.

America cried out, trying to get out of the way. Russia's head hit the shower wall, making the world go black for a terrifying moment. As color slowly began to fade back into his focus, he tried to sit up.

"Commie bastard!" America screamed, no longer caring to hide from Belarus. He stood up, eyes narrowed at the both of them. Belarus watched them with a look of surprise, one that slowly faded into an eerily quiet staidness.

"America," Russia said quietly, his eyes flicking over to Belarus. She was completely still, but then her fist tightened around the knife in her hand. When had that gotten there?

"Why the hell did you have to _fall_?" America yelled at Russia, who was watching his sister with wide eyes. There was no reaction. "What are you doing _now_, pretending I don't exist?"

Belarus took in a deep breath, taking a few steps toward America. She stepped into the bathtub, head down. America pushed himself flat against the wall, holding his hands up to defend himself. Belarus, still gripping the knife tightly, brought her hand up, directly cutting off their eye contact. She stayed that way for a moment.

"Ah…hi…Belarus."

Suddenly, the hand moved, slapping America across the face. He stumbled to the side, Belarus catching him by his hair. She yanked him back up against the wall just as her knee came up to hit him in the groin.

He immediately doubled over, a small grunt poking its way out of his mouth. Belarus pushed him back up by his forehead, and the back of his head hit the wall.

"Who said _you_ could speak?" she hissed, pressing the knife against America's throat. He sucked in a quick breath, eyes wide. There was a light red mark forming on the side of his face.

"Belarus…" Russia said, standing. She didn't look at him. Her long brown hair fell nicely down her back, and she really did look pretty in her black dress…he wouldn't be able to hurt her. In fact, all the times she'd done things, all the times she'd tried to kiss him, or touched him, or done anything that he didn't want to do, he hadn't hurt her. He'd stepped away, never pushing away. He'd always come up with excuses instead of insults. She was his sister.

"Now," Belarus said again, her voice nearly shaking with anger. "The only reason this knife isn't _lodged in your trachea_ right now is because it would upset my brother. If I ever catch you sneaking around again, you will _not_ be so lucky."

America watched with wide eyes as Belarus stepped back and around to Russia. He felt an almost crippling relief flood through him, and he let out a breath he realized he'd been holding. She brought her hand up to his face, and he froze again.

"I'm so sorry this happened, nii-san."

With that she left, pulling the clothing out of some pocket and dropped it unceremoniously on the ground. America looked up at Russia in disbelief, waiting until the outside door closed to speak.

"She thinks I was fucking _peeping_ on you?"

Russia blinked a few times. "I suppose. It's probably the only logical explanation in her mind."

"Dammit."

"Why are you swearing all of a sudden?"

"I dunno. Fit's the mood, huh?" America rubbed the back of his head. "That hurt. A lot."

"I'm sorry."

"S'okay."

"Okay."

"Yeah."

"Of course."

"Are you waiting for me to leave?"

"Please."

...

_:^) - holy crap 3d head! _

_Well, that was exciting, wasn't it? Lot of drama and action and stuff! It only took me two weeks to write! Yeah! Failure!_

_If you don't happen to think it's failure, please review! I eat them. Yeah. You've heard this before, haven't you?_

_If you find any typos I'll give you the key to the city._

_The next chapter should -in theory- contain some yummy yaoi fluffiness. :D All the more reason to keep reading, huh?_


	6. The Nightmare

_This chapter was ridiculously fun to write. It's also a lot longer than the rest of the chapters, so I hope you enjoy the extra :D_

_I know I promised fluff in this chapter, but I think it goes past fluff and into a bit more..._

_...let's just say that America's subconscious goes on a little field day. ;)_

_Enjoy!_

...

Russia sat in the middle of the bedroom floor, blankly staring at a spot a few feet away from him. He didn't have a watch, but he guessed it was about four in the morning. He couldn't really tell, as no light was let through the window. It was entirely pitch black in the room, save for a tiny, ancient oil lamp America had found in the closet. It was almost out of oil and was about to die out.

America was in the bed, asleep. He was sprawled out, taking up the whole mattress. They'd only been in this room for a few hours, but it felt like longer. Russia did the math. He'd arrived at America's house at seven o'clock, and then Belarus had them unconscious for a few hours, and then the shower incident had taken place. That was about…what, five or six hours total? Seven? And he'd been sitting on the floor for a long time now. He didn't want to disturb America.

America. If Russia hadn't known better, he'd have thought that America was making fun of him. He'd insisted, absolutely _insisted_, that he couldn't fall asleep in too much clothing. So he stripped down, pulled on shorts and crawled into bed, as though he was unaware of Russia's presence. It was almost too much for Russia to hold back.

America was lean, sort of muscular, thin (why did he think he was overweight?) and overall just perfect. It was amazing. Utterly amazing.

And now Russia was sitting on the floor, playing the few seconds he'd seen America shirtless over and over in his head. Every time, he felt his heart jump just a bit, and he smiled. It was actually kind of pathetic, him sitting here, clinging to three seconds of happiness. Belarus had no clue.

Suddenly, a rustling noise broke Russia out of his stupor. America rolled over, curling into a ball right at the edge of the bed. Russia looked up at him, trying to make out his shape. He saw through the slowly approaching darkness the outline of his face, and there was a small flutter in his chest. God, why did he have to be so immature?

America had a slightly pleasant look on his face, a small smile. The blanket was pulled down his body, barely covering his waist. Russia watched him for a while, as the flame from the lamp dimmed. It would go out soon.

As Russia watched America, something came over him. A sudden urge. One that could be dangerous, potentially.

He stood up, taking a deep breath. America didn't move, simply breathing in and out. Whatever he was dreaming about had to be nice and peaceful. Russia stepped toward the bed, heading around to the foot. He stood there for a second before slowly crawling up onto it. What the heck was he doing?

He didn't know. Russia crawled up next to America, doing his best not to make the bed creak. The last thing he wanted now was for America to wake up. That would be a disaster.

Slowly, carefully, he lay down, releasing the breath he'd been holding to keep quiet. America didn't seem to be stirring, so he gave a small sigh of relief.

And so there he was, lying next to America in a bed. Fully clothed, granted, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Or something like that. Russia's English wasn't exactly on par with a native speaker's.

But he was happy now. And that was all that really mattered.

…

America couldn't fall asleep. That stupid lamp he'd found barely made any light whatsoever. Russia was probably still sitting in the middle of the floor. Whatever. At least he still had his bed. Russia didn't really have much.

He rolled over, sighing. Through his barely-open eyes he saw Russia staring off into space. He closed his eyes again, smiling. At least the big guy wasn't going all emo in a corner.

He tried to let himself drift off into sleep. It was difficult, but slowly he felt the sensation slipping from his hands. It was only a little while before he felt a small shaking of the bed. Good. He was going into a dream.

The bed seemed to be moving a little, and then he felt a depression behind him. Hm. This was a weird dream. He didn't really feel like having one, anyway.

When he opened his eyes again, he found that the lamp had died. Through the near-blackout he thought he could still see Russia's shape on the floor. Oh well. The older nation could go to sleep when he wanted to.

Wait. The depression behind him wasn't gone. As he tried to focus his eyes in the pitch-black room, he realized that Russia wasn't actually on the floor. He was gone.

That meant that…why the hell was Russia behind him? America stiffened up, eyes wide. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. What was going _on_?

Russia just wanted to sleep, he rationalized. There was nowhere else to go. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary here. Nothing at all. There was just one bed. Anyway, they were both guys. He was safe.

America closed his eyes and tried to relax. Russia probably thought he was asleep anyway. Maybe he was. There was no way to tell with some dreams. Best to just let it go.

And then something touched his arm.

It was a hand. A cold one. He froze. There were just a few fingers touching him, but they were enough to send a shiver down his spine.

The fingers ran slowly up his arm and to his shoulder. He resisted the urge to run, hoping it would stop soon. What if this wasn't a dream?

But it had to be. There was no way that Russia was actually doing this. It was just too unreasonable. The big guy wasn't gay, was he? Heck, Belarus was enough to turn anyone gay.

No. He had to push these thoughts out of his head. That became exceedingly difficult as the fingers trailed back down to his elbow. He bit his lip. It was just a dream, just a dream.

The fingers turned into a full hand, lightly running up his arm again. This time they turned and started down his back. America sucked in a breath and arched his back away. The hand recoiled.

America rolled over, coming face-to-face with Russia. Well, if he'd been able to see he'd have seen Russia.

"America…" Russia whispered, clearly surprised.

"What the hell are you doing?" America asked. It immediately sounded too harsh, but he couldn't take it back.

"I…I'm sorry…" Russia sat up, moving quickly to the foot of the bed. America heard him move off the bed, his feet hitting the floor.

America turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling he imagined would be there. This whole blindness thing wasn't going too well for him. Anyway, it served Russia right to get kicked out.

The footsteps stopped by the wall, and for a moment America wondered if Russia was going to turn on the overhead light. The darkness wasn't so bad when one was trying to sleep.

But the light didn't turn on, and the footsteps stopped. There was the sliding of fabric, and then silence.

It was quiet for a few moments, before America's curiosity got the better of him. "Um, Russia?"

There was a long pause. "Hm?"

"Uh…" America didn't really know what to say. "If you're tired, then…you can, like, sleep here…I mean, there's only one bed…and you need to sleep…"

There was no answer. America bit his lip, sitting up. Where the heck was Russia?

"Well, I'll feel bad if you just sit there, so I'm not gonna be able to sleep," he said, standing.

"Don't worry."

"Oh, don't go all angsty on me."

"I'm sorry."

America sighed sharply. "Okay, sorry I snapped at you, I didn't mean it. I was just surprised, okay?"

Once again there was no answer. America crossed his arms.

"Well, at least tell me where you are."

"Bathroom door."

"On the floor?"

"Yes."

At least he knew where the bathroom was. Many late-night trips across the room had given America the ability to make it there even when only semi-conscious. It was a very difficult, acquired skill.

He walked toward where he imagined the other nation would be, slowing as he approached the bathroom door. It would be…right about…here…

Suddenly, his shin hit something. Russia's leg. America lost his balance, crying out as he fell forward. He brought his hands out to catch himself, but he had no idea exactly where the floor was.

He didn't actually have to worry about that, though, as two strong arms caught him just before he hit the ground. Russia held America up with both arms, one under his chest and the other over his back. America's head was less than an inch from the floor.

"Ah, dammit, I'm sorry," America said quickly, breaking out of Russia's grip and sitting on the floor. He scratched the back of his head.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks."

"You are welcome."

"Well, just thought you were getting lonely over here, so…"

Russia didn't say anything, so America decided to sit down with his back to the wall next to the older nation.

They sat for a few minutes, neither saying anything. America would glance up at where he pictured Russia's face being every few seconds.

After a while, America decided to break the silence. "Um, Russia?" When there was no response he continued. "Why did you…earlier…"

"I don't know. I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay, it's just…why?"

"I don't know what came over me. It won't happen again."

"No, it's really okay. I just…why did you…stop so suddenly?" Immediately America began to blush. What the hell was he saying?

"I shouldn't have done it in the first place. It was out of line."

There was an awkward silence. America bit his lip, eyebrows furrowed. For some reason, his mind kept springing back to a few minutes earlier, when Russia's hand had been…

"America?"

America blinked a few times before answering. "Huh?"

"How much do you really like Hungary?"

"Um…" America furrowed his brow. "Well, she's really nice and stuff, and pretty. But she's got a thing for Austria, right?"

Russia paused a moment. "And this does not bother you?"

"Not really. I really didn't…like her like _that_, you know? I just wanted to go on a date with her. Get to know her more. I don't know. Anyway, that was yesterday. I thought I might like her, but there's just something missing. You know?"

"Yes. I do."

"Hey, this is kind of a random question, but…" America trailed off, unsure how to word what he was about to ask. "Have you ever liked someone, but you didn't know if they liked you back?"

Russia didn't answer. America could almost feel him freezing in place.

"Did I say something?"

"No, I am sorry."

"Have you?"

"Well…" Russia took a deep breath. "Yes."

"Who?"

There was no answer.

America bit his lip. Was this becoming a new habit? "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"No, I probably should. Just to say it."

"Okay then."

"America…" Russia took a deep breath. "It's you."

Time seemed to freeze.

America's eyes widened. Russia liked…him? Liked America? How was that even possible? What about the Cold War? What about all the times they'd thrown insults back and forth, words that had carried such hatred and revulsion…all that time Russia had _liked_ him?

"Are you serious?"

Russia didn't even seem to have heard. America couldn't hear anything now. It was like he was deaf and dumb. Russia wasn't moving, wasn't doing anything, wasn't saying anything.

"Uh, cause if you are it's okay, okay?"

Still no answer.

"It's cool. I really don't mind."

Russia sighed lightly, and America could almost _smell _the depression. Russia was never this sad. He was always smiling and happy, and this was just wrong. Suddenly, something came over America.

He reached out his hand, feeling for Russia's shoulder. Russia flinched at the touch, but didn't move away. Taking a deep breath, America leaned forward, pulling the other nation into a hug.

Russia tensed, swallowing thickly. America brought his hands around Russia's back, making the embrace closer. After a moment, Russia's hands crept around to America's back, his cold hands running over the bare skin.

"America, you don't have to," Russia said quietly. America responded by resting his chin on Russia's shoulder.

They stayed that way for a few moments. America smiled, snuggling into Russia's chest. There was something in the back of his mind trying to tell him something, but he couldn't quite make it out.

That might have been because at that moment Russia's lips touched his neck.

America gasped, his mouth staying open as Russia began to kiss lightly up his neck. His mouth was cool and soft, and America felt his heart speed up.

When Russia reached the base of America's ear he started back down, each touch light and feathery. He continued down America's collarbone, breaking out of the hug. America froze as Russia stopped right at the edge of his shoulder.

Softly, carefully, Russia came back up to America's neck, running his tongue down America's jaw. America's breath sped up, but he didn't move. Russia lingered a moment in front of America's face before leaning forward to touch lips.

The kiss was short and light, and America found himself kissing back. The little thing nagging at his mind was gone. Russia broke the kiss, smiling. He then sat back, his hands resting around the back of America's neck.

"You didn't try to stop me," he said quietly.

It took America a second to speak. "Uh, yeah, about that…"

"Was it not good?"

"No, no, it was okay, it's just…"

"You like girls."

America bit his lip. Geez, he needed to stop that. "Well, yeah. I mean, I've dated girls and stuff."

Russia brought his hands away from America's shoulders. "Then I am sorry."

"Well, I mean, it wasn't _bad,_ I just didn't expect it to be like that."

"Expecting what?"

America blushed, though it went unseen in the darkness. When the hell did he _blush_? Sure, it was embarrassing, but still…

"You know, first kiss…" he muttered.

Russia was silent. America looked down, though it didn't really matter.

"That was your first kiss." Russia's voice sounded nearly emotionless.

"Well, I guess. I mean, England would kiss me on the forehead and stuff when I was a really little kid. But that was more like an older brother thing. And only before I went to bed. So it doesn't really count, does it?"

"America, I'm so sorry. I did not know." Russia stood up. America stood up with him.

"It's okay. Gotta do it sometime, huh?"

"America…"

"Dude, it's okay. You know what? I wouldn't even mind if—" he stopped himself. God, what he was about to say was so undeniably stupid.

"—if you, you know…did it again…" he trailed off. Russia sighed.

"I can't."

America shook his head. Then he realized that Russia couldn't see it. "Yeah, you can."

Russia stepped toward America, closing the space between them. This whole pitch-blackness thing was getting annoying.

"You are entirely sure?"

"I said so, didn't I?"

Russia lightly set his hands on America's waist, making the shorter nation jump a little. Why was he so antsy? This was what he wanted, wasn't it?

America put his arms around Russia's neck, his heart pounding. When had that started? His breath was quick as Russia leaned down, letting their lips meet for the second time.

Russia's hands were cold, causing America to shudder slightly as they moved from his hips to his back. He was pulled into Russia's chest, and as that happened the kiss opened up. Their lips began to move against each other's, and America felt something in his stomach flutter.

His hands, seeming to move of their own accord, moved up Russia's chest, up to where his coat fastened. Why was he still wearing that thing? It was too warm inside.

He undid the clasps, slowly pulling it open. He pushed it off of Russia's shoulders, and it fell to the floor in a heap.

Underneath the coat, America found, the taller nation wore a long-sleeved shirt. How many layers did he have? Didn't he ever get warm?

The kiss broke, and America stared up at Russia. He was suddenly lost in the room. Were they in the middle, or off to the side? Where was the bathroom, or the bed? Or the hallway door? He had no clue. And yet, something about the idea made this all better.

"America…" Russia whispered, leaning in to America's ear. "Is this really what you want?"

America gulped. "Mmhmm."

Suddenly, Russia stepped forward, sending America back. His back hit the wall, and his eyes widened. Russia grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the wall on either side of the smaller nation's head.

"Really?"

America had had enough of this. "Yes, dammit."

Russia chuckled, leaning back in by America's ear. "Good."

They kissed again, this time more urgently. Russia had America pressed to the wall. When they broke apart, America found himself out of breath. Russia began kissing lightly down his neck again, slowly but steadily making his way down to America's chest. He let go of America's arms, but they still seemed pinned in place.

A wave of realization washed over America. "What are you doing?"

"If you wish for me to stop, just say so."

Russia kept kissing down, lower and lower, until he reached the hem of America's shorts. America's heart was moving a mile a minute, and his eyes widened as he braced himself for what was to come.

And then the door opened.

Immediately, America froze, eyes wide. The lights flicked on, but Russia didn't seem to notice. He was beginning to unzip the shorts.

"Russia…" America whispered as he realized who was now in the room.

Belarus. She stopped in the doorway, staring in shock at the two men. America began to panic, trying to move his arms. They wouldn't budge, like they were stuck to the wall.

Still Russia didn't make any move to stop. Belarus's expression slowly turned cold, and she reached into the pocket of her dress. As she pulled it out, America clearly saw the pistol in her hand.

"Russia!" he yelled, trying desperately to move anywhere. He was frozen in place, and he watched in horror as Belarus aimed the gun at his head. "_Russia_!"

"I told you never to mess with my brother again," Belarus said quietly. The room darkened until there seemed to be a spotlight on her.

To America's horror, he slowly saw Belarus's face changing. Changing into someone else's.

"This is all your fault," Hungary said, staring emptily at America. The blonde nation tried screaming, calling out, but now even his voice was gone.

All he could do was watch helplessly as Hungary pulled the trigger. There was a deafening sound, and then world went black and America lost all feeling.

…

"HOLY FUCKING CRAP!"

Russia was shocked awake by the high scream. His eyes snapped open, and he sat up. There was a heavy thud as America fell out of bed and onto the floor, still screaming. He pulled the blanket with him, and now he was fighting to get out of it.

"America?"

America stopped kicking and yelling long enough to get a good look at Russia's face. His eyes nearly rolled back, and his head fell back onto the floor.

"America?" Russia asked again, thoroughly confused. Had his presence in the bed really startled America that much?

"Russia?" America's hands jerked out from the blanket and to his face. "I'm not dead?"

"Not as far as I can tell."

America was silent for a moment, and he stared up at the ceiling. "God, Russia. That was the most fucked up dream I think I've ever had."

"I can imagine."

"Remind me never to sleep again. Wait a second, what are you doing in the bed?" It was more a demand than a question.

"I did not wish to sleep on the floor."

"Okay."

"What did you think I was doing?"

"Don't even fucking ask."

"You're swearing again."

"Just give me a sec, okay?" America sat up, holding his head.

"What was the dream about?"

"You don't want to know. Trust me."

...

_lol. That's all I can say. _

_Ooooh, does America actually have submerged feelings for Russia? Is he actually that deep? Probably not! But hey, you never know..._

_Sorry if this chapter seems a bit out of place, but I just needed to get some yaoi in here! owo_

_If you find any typos you get a lifetime supply of cake._

_Please review! Pleasepleasepleaseplease review, whether or not you like it, or hate it, or want more...(although the good reviews taste better than the bad ones :D)_


	7. The Realization

_Woohoo! Yeah! Next chapter! Yay! Gods it's late._

_But, whatever, it's here, what you've all been waiting for, ANOTHER CHAPTER!_

_*ahem* Okay, just read. And enjoy._

...

"Ah, I can't—"

"Shhh…"

"It won't fit!"

"Don't worry, it'll stretch out!"

"It hurts…"

"It's fine, okay?"

"Just listen, I can't get it…"

"Put your back into it!"

"I can do it myself!"

Russia pulled the shirt up off his head, trying to hide his blush. America had offered to let Russia wear his shirt, but it was too small. Even the two of them hadn't been able to get it on him.

"Do you have a larger shirt?"

"Like in the closet. But it's probably a jacket or a fleece thing."

"That sounds fine."

America shrugged, taking back the t-shirt that was now stretched and wrinkled. Then he crossed to the closet, opening it and examining the contents.

"I have some to-grow-into stuff that England got me when I was a kid and he didn't know how tall I'd get," he said, moving some stuff around. He pulled out a denim jacket, judged it negative and threw it to the side.

"I just need a shirt," Russia said. His old shirt had gotten some ketchup on it (courtesy of a Belarus sandwich) and he needed a new one. He was used to wearing the same clothes a lot, so the pants didn't bother him. He didn't want to ask his sister for his clothes, remembering what she'd done last time. He shuddered at the thought.

"Is a polo okay?"

"A what?"

"A polo shirt. Here." America handed Russia a blue shirt. Russia held it up to himself, looking at America inquisitively. The younger nation inspected it carefully for a moment before shaking his head.

"Blue isn't really your color," he said, holding out his hand. "I think I have something else."

"It is okay."

"No, it isn't. Give it back or I'll wrestle it from you."

Russia's eyes wandered from America, picturing what wrestling America would be like. He felt a little heat rushing into his face and he dismissed the thought before he started blushing. Immediately he thrust the shirt at America, who caught it and threw it back into the closet.

"I can find something," Russia said, biting his lip. America shook his head, pushing the taller man away.

"My closet, my choice."

Russia sighed, going to the bed and sitting down. He watched with a slightly amused look as America dug through piles of clothes on the floor and things clumsily hung up. He occasionally tossed an article of clothing onto the floor, where it slid either to the wall or to a random spot in the room.

Finally, America pulled out a shirt, stepping back without throwing it. He held it up against Russia's figure from across the room, tilting his head to the side.

"You can have this one," he said, giving it to Russia. The taller country looked at it, surprised. He then pulled off his stained shirt, setting it on the bed. Then he started figuring out how to put on the shirt America had given him.

He looked up at America, about to speak. He stopped abruptly, though, as he met America's face.

…

His chest. His stomach. It was so pale, yet so muscular. Like a vampire. Or something. America couldn't take his eyes off of Russia as the older nation took off his shirt and started to put on the other.

It was as though the dream from the night before was coming back in full force. Why, in the dream, had he…kissed Russia back? Why had he said that he _wanted_…

"America, what are you staring at?"

America immediately snapped out of his Russia-related trance, turning a bright shade of red. Russia watched him for a moment before pulling the shirt all the way on.

"Sorry, just thinking, don't mind me…" America stuttered, looking away.

Russia looked at him for a second before sighing and standing up. "America?"

"What?"

"I have noticed that you have not insulted me."

"What?" America asked, surprised.

"You usually insult me."

America's eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah?"

"You have not."

"What, am I supposed to?"

"No," Russia said, shrugging. "It was just strange."

"Commie," America said, smiling. Russia smiled back.

"Stupid American."

America crossed his arms, taking a step toward Russia. "Bastard."

"Idiot." Russia stepped forward.

"Asshole." Another step.

"Scum." Closer.

"Loser." Closer.

"Vile." Inches apart.

"Disgusting." Touching…

America froze as their chests touched, giving Russia a playful glare. Russia returned the look, only his was more 'Haha I'm taller than you.'

The taller nation smiled a bit, taking another step forward. America was pushed back, his arms flying out to the sides to balance himself. The correction was a second too late, and he fell down.

"Commie bastard!" he hissed, crossing his arms. Russia looked down at him, a slightly amused look on his face.

"You already used that one," he said, smiling.

"Asshole."

"That one as well."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

It was a challenge. America sneered at the taller man, sitting up. Russia crouched down to his level.

"If you don't, I am afraid I will just have to keep talking. I might start talking about things you do not wish to hear. I may talk about Belarus, or Hungary. I may talk about England. I may insult you."

America narrowed his eyes, glaring at Russia. He took a deep breath, then lunged forward.

Russia was caught off guard, and he fell backwards. America landed on top of him, holding his shoulders down. Russia's arms flew out to the side to steady himself, but they didn't stop his head from hitting the wood floor hard.

"I told you to shut up."

"I asked you to make me."

"I am."

"Are you?"

"Yes, dammit!"

"Language."

"That's what I was using!"

America put one hand around Russia's neck as though he was about to choke him. Russia didn't move, merely looking up at America with that amused look.

"How is this quieting me?"

The smaller nation tightened his grip on Russia's neck, giving the other man a look that said 'I'll do it. Don't push me, I'll do it.' Russia didn't seem to believe him.

"Because I can still speak as well as before. What was I going to say about England again? Oh, yes, I remember…"

"Shut it!"

"Shut what?"

"Fuck you!" America yelled, getting up off of Russia. The taller man grinned.

"If you insist," he said, sitting up. America raised an eyebrow at him before the realization came. He gave Russia a horrified look, followed by an exasperated one.

"I can't win with you!" His hands came up to his temples and he closed his eyes.

For a second he didn't move. The dream. It was coming back again. Did Russia actually…no, of course he didn't. That was just a joke. It was nothing, it didn't mean anything. A joke.

Why was he having these thoughts in the first place? Did he like Russia? Was there something there that he just didn't get? Did Russia think that he…that he was gay? Was Russia? Was he? America had so many questions, all running through his head at once.

"America, are you okay?"

"Huh?" America broke out of his thoughts and looked up at Russia. The other man was staring at him, a concerned look on his face. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine," he said.

"You do not look fine. What is wrong?"

"Just the dream."

"What was it about?"

"I told you, don't ask."

"You also told me to shut up. What was the dream about?"

America sighed. There was no getting by Russia. "It was nothing. Just a stupid subconscious acting out."

"That was a big word."

"Shut up!"

Russia laughed. "Okay, I am sorry. Continue."

"That was it."

"No it was not."

America shook his head. "I don't want to tell you."

"Please?"

Wouldn't he just stop? America obviously didn't want to tell him, did he? Did he? He shook his head again. No, of course he didn't! Why would he even—

"Okay."

Russia looked surprised. "Really? Go on, then."

America took a deep breath. "Okay, it was just like…" How to put in as few words as possible? "We just, like…"

Russia looked at America expectantly. "Hm?"

"We just kissed and stuff, okay…" America trailed off.

Russia's eyes widened, and he looked genuinely surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," America said quietly.

"Did you like it?"

America froze. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

…

Why had he just done that? Who was he to ask if America had _liked _it or not? But his curiosity had gotten the best of him and now…

"Did you?"

America looked uncomfortable. Russia internally cursed himself. What was he doing? He had this whole 'I don't care anymore' thing about him now. It had started when America had tackled him, pinned him to the ground…that had almost been too much. So had he coped by being a smartass? Why?

"I guess…I mean…it was just a dream…" America's words were almost inaudible. Russia froze, eyes wide.

"You did?"

America looked down. "Maybe."

Russia stared at America for a second. Did America…did he…Russia's heart began pounding. Did America feel the same way…did America want Russia to…did he…?

"America?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you…" what was he about to say? It was stupid, so undeniably stupid, the most idiotic thing he may ever have said in his life, "…would you want to…" might as well just say it, no time for being shy.

"No," America said, cutting Russia off. The taller nation started to speak again, but was cut off once more. "I should just shut up, okay? Let it go."

"Would you want to kiss me now?"

Oh, God, the stupidity of what he was saying. It hurt. America bit his lip, looking up at Russia. Their eyes met for half a second before America looked away again.

"I don't know."

Russia nodded, standing. He held out his hand to help America up, but the smaller nation pushed it away and got up himself.

"I'm confused, not incapable," he said, his hands going into his pockets. Russia watched him as he started toward the bed. Suddenly, something came over him.

"What would make you know?"

America turned around, surprised. "I don't know."

"What if I told you…" Oh, God, more stupidity. "…that I…"

"Look, Russia, I don't know."

"What if it was just an experiment?"

"Experiment?"

Russia had no idea what he was saying anymore. "Yes, an experiment, just to see if our feelings…" stupidity.

"…match up," America finished. He looked thoughtful for a second. "I guess that would work."

"And if it did not we could forget about it, da?"

"Yeah."

Russia's heart began to speed up. Was this horrible drivel coming out of his mouth actually…_working_? America stepped toward him, a strange look on his face.

"So, you want to…" America trailed off, looking away. Russia took a deep breath, smiling.

"Da," he said, cupping America's jaw. He turned America's face toward his.

Carefully he leaned in, taking the younger nation by surprise. America stiffened, but he didn't jerk away. Russia let their lips meet softly, the smile still on his face.

America's lips were soft and warm, and Russia felt a giddiness flooding through him. He was kissing America. Finally, after all this time, he was actually _kissing_ America…

After a moment, Russia felt America resigning to the kiss. His arms wrapped around the smaller man, pulling him in flush against his body. America's arms carefully came up and wrapped around Russia's neck.

Russia's tongue flicked across America's lips. As he did, the kiss deepened, their mouths moving across each other's. A small tingle of happiness leaped down Russia's spine, and he pulled America even closer.

"Do you know now?" he whispered, breaking the kiss. America stared up at him, a lost look on his face.

"I guess…" he said, making no move to break out of Russia's arms.

"Do you need more of an experiment?"

America looked down, shrugging. Russia let his forehead rest against the smaller country's head. He let his hands wander a bit, running up and down America's back.

"Um…" America said, looking back up at Russia. He had a more determined look on his face. "A bit more experiment couldn't hurt."

Russia didn't answer, instead letting his lips touch America's again. The second kiss was more passionate, deeper. America's hands seemed to move of their own accord, ducking under Russia's shirt. Russia could barely contain the joy that rushed through him. God, he was _kissing_ America. America was _kissing_ back. America was touching. Was wanting to touch him. Was…

"You bastard."

Russia immediately broke the kiss, his head darting to the side. What he saw made his entire body feel like ice.

Belarus.

She stood in the doorway, a cold look on her face. She stared at the two of them, almost blankly, as though she didn't understand what was happening.

She stayed still for a moment, eyes wide. Then her face darkened. She looked down, gripping the knife tightly. Then she took a shaky breath.

"I'm going to kill you," she said quietly, taking a step forward. America made a small noise, darting away. Belarus kept walking.

"Natalya, you don't…"

"I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I let him live."

"No, it is not—"

"I let him live to make you happy. I see that was not what I should have done."

"Natalya, please—"

Belarus looked up at her brother, eyes almost dead looking. "Don't stop me."

"Please don't hurt me," America said quietly, backing up into the wall. That was when she snapped.

"Don't fucking touch my brother!" she yelled, lunging toward him. The knife missed him by an inch as he stumbled to the side, falling. Russia rushed forward, trying to stop his sister from doing something bad.

"I didn't mean—"

"You didn't _mean to_? What, does that make things _better_ somehow? Just fucking DIE!"

The knife swung down again, connecting with flesh. It wasn't America's.

Russia felt a bolt of pain shoot across his back. Then something hit him in the back of the head, and everything went black. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was a scream, but he couldn't tell whose it was.

...

_Dun dun duuuuuuun! This, children, is what is known as a cliffhanger :D Stay tuned, it's not over yet!_

_If you find any typos I'll make you the Dictator of Australia._

_Please review! Please!_


	8. The Truth

_After many comments (thank you all) here is the resolution of the very suspenseful last chaper ^_^_

_Without much else to say, here is the 8th chapter :)_

...

Belarus stopped cold.

The lamp fell from her hand, the glass shattering as it hit the floor. There was a long silence as both she and America stared in horror at Russia's body.

Her knife was lodged in his back, the handle sticking up sickeningly. Blood was starting to soak in the shirt he was wearing, and he didn't move. Oh God. What had…

"This is your fault," she whispered. America looked up at her, eyes wide. He didn't seem to understand.

"Your fault," she repeated, clutching the knife in her fist. Her eyes didn't move from Russia. America began to plead with her.

"We can just take him to the hospital, and it'll be okay, okay?" America was saying. He didn't move, seeming to be frozen to the floor. Belarus didn't acknowledge that he had spoken. Instead, she took a step forward.

"He's dead."

America made a small noise. "How do you know that? You don't know that!"

"It's all your fault."

"But he's a country, and some little knife wouldn't really—"

"You killed my brother!" Belarus yelled, all her pent-up anger unleashing itself at once. She leaped toward America, eyes clouding over. Ivan. _Her_ Ivan. And now this worthless piece of trash in front of her had _killed_ him.

"He's not dead!"

"Shut up!"

"If we don't take him to the hospital he might actually die!"

"Shut_ up_!"

Belarus pushed America's words out of her head. Ivan may not be dead…but America was still to blame. Everything was his fault. His _goddamn_ fault.

"I told you not to touch him!" she yelled, her fist connecting with America's jaw. He fell back, a look of horror and shock on his face. Belarus ignored the pain in her fist, jumping at him again.

"But—"

Her boot hit him in the chest, knocking him backwards. He scrambled to get up as Belarus came toward him again, her hand coming up to grip his hair tightly.

"I _told you_ not to touch him!"

His face collided with the floor, and there was a sharp snapping noise. For half a second he didn't move, and Belarus took this time to kick him in the side of the head. He made a small noise, sliding to the side. Painfully, he got up off the floor.

Belarus stepped forward, causing America to bolt upright. His nose was bleeding, and he stared up at her. In his eyes there was the familiar look of dull terror.

"I didn't touch him…" he choked out, trying desperately to slide back.

"Like hell you didn't!" she screamed, the sound of America's voice feeding the fire in her head. She stepped back, reaching down and behind her. Her fingers met the handle of the knife. Without a second of pause she pulled it out of her brother's back, ignoring the sickening noise it made.

"Okay, don't…hold on a second…" America said quietly, sliding backwards. Belarus started toward him, her initial rage simmering down to the cool yearning for vengeance. She was happy that her anger worked that way. Cold anger was easier to use than hot.

"Even if he isn't dead," she said, smiling a little, "You kissed him. And for that I'm going to kill you."

She was close now, and he was about to back up into the wall. This was what she should have done in the first place, instead of foolishly thinking that she could keep him under control. She should have just offed him from the beginning. Now this had gone too far, and she had only one option.

"Wait…please...just think about it…"

"I've more than thought about it," she said. Only a few steps separated them. She held the knife out. It was still covered in Russia's blood.

America's back hit the wall, and he froze. Belarus could see his adrenaline starting to run through his body, making his breathing faster. His eyes widened as she closed the distance between them.

"No," he said quietly, "Please…"

"It's a little too late for that, don't you think?" she said, switching her grip on the knife. She planted her foot on his chest, keeping him from moving. She raised the knife, smiling. Finally, she'd be rid of this blight on humanity—

Suddenly, she felt something close around her waist. She jumped, but what it was...it was an arm. Two arms. They held her tightly, preventing her from bringing her arm down.

"Natalya, please stop," the voice came.

America stared up at what was happening with what seemed to be incomprehension.

"Ivan…" she whispered. "You—"

"Drop the knife."

Belarus's eyes widened. Her brother's voice was so cold. She let go of the knife, and it clattered to the floor. Suddenly, the realization that Russia's arms were around her came to her.

"Vanya…"

"Leave."

"I was just—"

"Just go."

"Don't be—"

"Leave now or I will make you."

The tears Belarus had held back earlier came now. She felt her legs getting weak. Russia pulled her backwards, and she didn't object. His voice was so empty. There wasn't even anger. Just a…a dark…a dead, cold hatred. Hatred.

The tears flowed over and started down her cheeks. Her Vanya…hated her. All the times he'd told her to stop, he'd sounded a bit desperate, a bit exasperated. He'd never hurt her. Oh, God. He, in the entirety of her life, had never hurt her. She had just _stabbed_ him, and all he did was pull her away. His grip was firm, but not painful. God, he'd _never hurt her._

"If you touch America again I will not forgive you." Russia loosened his grip on her, giving her the chance to leave.

Belarus didn't move. She felt as though her entire body was made of water. She let herself fall backwards, where she knew Russia would hold her up.

"Go now, Belarus."

Belarus. He's always called her Natalya, and now even that was gone. The way he said her country's name was so distanced, so foreign.

So she ran.

…

Russia watched Belarus leave. America sat against the wall, eyes still wide. What had…Russia was…he was alive…more than alive…

"America," Russia said softly. He stepped carefully toward the smaller nation. "She hurt you."

He'd not been expecting that. "What are you…" Russia had gotten stabbed in the back, for Pete's sake, and now he was worried about _America_'s wounds?

"Your nose," he said, crouching down to America's level. His hand lightly came up to touch the other man's face.

"It's alright, Russia. We need to get you to the hospital."

"I am fine."

"You're bleeding. We have to go."

"Okay, I will go."

"Then let's—"

"If you kiss me."

America stared up at Russia incredulously. "There's no time for that! You're going to bleed to death first!"

"Please."

Russia's eyes were so deep. America had never truly looked at them before, he hadn't seen the tiny flickers of emotion that passed daily, or the deep…deep…love that they showed now.

He let himself lean forward, and Russia closed the distance. Their lips met gently, and a tingle went through America's bruised body. Russia's hand ran along his cheek, finally coming around to slide into his hair.

America shivered a little, pulling Russia closer. Their lips pressed together with a bit more urgency than before, but only so much. Russia, surprisingly, was the first one to pull away.

"I love you, America," he whispered. "Я тебя люблю."

Then he fell limp.

…

Belarus watched as the ambulance drove off. She'd called the hospital, and a team of paramedics had taken Russia and America away. As the car left her sight, she turned away from the window.

Russia hated her. Her Ivan. And he hated her.

The thought kept running through her head, seemingly endless. If he didn't love her, if there wasn't even the _hope_, then why should she even try anymore? Why should she do anything anymore?

She wandered through America's house, running her fingers along the wall. It was as though something had fallen on her heart and had refused to get up. She sighed as she approached America's bedroom.

Carefully Belarus peered inside, examining everything. There was blood on the floor, lots of it. Not that she had any aversion to blood. It was fine. But this was different; it was Ivan's blood. And she had been the one to spill it.

Suddenly, something came over her. She screamed, pounding her fist into the wall by the door. How useless could she get? Useless, stupid and immature. She'd stood in there, telling America that Russia's pain was his fault, when really…

_"I love you, America."_

Those were the words that Russia had spoken. He was in love with America, and she had almost _killed_ America. He wasn't in love with her, no. It was America he wanted, America who was there for him when she couldn't be. It was America who was right, and she was wrong, evil. She was the bad guy.

The knife sat on the floor by the wall. Belarus walked slowly across the room. It was covered in drying blood, blood that was still a deep crimson.

"Oh, Vanya," she whispered, her fingers closing on the handle. The blade seemed strangely heavy now, like her hand wouldn't be able to support it.

She stared at it for a moment. She was the reason that her brother's blood was on this. She was the reason that her brother was now on his way to the hospital. How useless.

For a moment she thought she heard the front door open, but when there was no more sound Belarus's attention left it. She laid the knife on her hand, letting the blood cover her palm. It was cold and dead now, the blood. And empty-feeling. As empty as Russia's words to her had been.

"I'm sorry," she said, but the sound didn't even reach her own ears. She pushed the blade into her hand, but it didn't break the surface, leaving only an indentation in her skin.

Suddenly, she brought the knife up to her throat, letting it hover just above the skin. All she had to do was slide it across and then she wouldn't have to worry about Russia anymore. She wouldn't have to feel this much pain when she thought about him, she wouldn't have to face seeing him again.

Belarus tightened her grip on the handle, working up the resolve just to let it end. It was funny, the fact that she was about to commit suicide. She knew what she was doing. There was no confused teenager about her.

She closed her eyes, letting the knife touch her throat. Just another second.

"Natalya!"

A voice echoed through her head. But no, there couldn't be anyone there. She was all alone here. Everyone was gone.

But then a hand closed around hers. She opened her eyes to see the hand, even smaller than hers, pull the knife away.

"What…?" she whispered, her eyes searching up at the person's face. Arms wrapped around her shoulders as tears started clouding her vision. She saw brown hair and warm green eyes. It took a second for her sluggish mind to understand who it was.

"Toris…"

"Shhh…" she heard. She stayed rigid for a second, but then she let herself relax into the embrace. Her head rested on Lithuania's shoulder, and her eyes closed.

It was strange. Usually she despised the smaller nation, but now…

"You don't need to tell me anything," he said quietly, running his hand through her hair. Once again, she felt the tears falling down her face.

Lithuania started humming something, and before Belarus could stop herself she was drifting off. The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was the bloody knife lying on the floor. This time, though, it didn't make her sad. She didn't long to die anymore.

It was amazing what the comfort of someone could do, even if you hated them.

...

_Okay, just a couple notes here. First of all, I don't really ship Belarus/Lithuania. I don't like the pairing at all. So there's nothing really romantic about the last scene unless you choose to see it that way._

_Another thing. The next chapter, I believe, is going to be the last. Never, fear, however, for I am starting another fic soon afterwards. Oh, and I also need time to work on "The Only Thing We Have to Fear". So yeah. But I promise that the last chapter will have a lot of Russia and America in it. Together. In the same room. ^_^_

_Oh, and in case any of you were wondering, Я тебя люблю means "I love you" in Russian :D_

_If you find any typos in this (and there are probably at least a few million :P I churned this out in a couple hours and didn't proofread) then you will recieve my undying gratitude and a year's supply of Cheez-its._

_Please review? Please? Pretty please?_


	9. The Happily Ever After

_Thank you to all of the people who have read this, commented on it, favorited it or even thought about it XD This is the final chapter for "My Prisoner", and I hope you enjoy it!_

...

America sat on the couch, face buried in a magazine. He was staring at pictures of airplanes and the pilots around them, a childish fascination filling his face. Airplanes. _His_ airplanes. How much more awesome could Disney get?

He adjusted his position, lying down with his head on the arm. He crossed his legs, turning the page. It had something about blood vessels on it. America was about to skim over it when he saw something interesting.

So, apparently, the reason blood went to your head when you were upside down was because of valves and things. As a true American, he had to test this.

"Upside down, how to get upside down…" he mumbled under his breath.

He flipped himself around on the couch, so his legs were up on the back, knees hanging over. His head leaned back down the front of the seat, and he held the magazine above him. His hair hung down, giving the illusion that it was sticking straight up. Almost immediately his face started getting red.

He stayed that way for a moment, blood rushing to his head. It started to feel strange, like it was about to burst. Then the doorbell rang.

America jumped, dropping the magazine. He nearly fell of the couch trying to collect himself. While attempting to sit up, he ended up putting too much weight on the back of the couch, making it tip unsteadily. He felt his stomach drop as the couch fell over backwards. It created a large thud, jarring the blonde nation.

"America?"

Russia? Russia! America forgot at once about the couch, dashing to the door. He flung it open, a smile on his face.

"Hey!" he said happily.

"America, I just wanted to…are you okay?"

America realized that his face must still have been red, and his hair was sticking up in odd places. That added to the couch made a strange scene.

"Oh, sorry," he said, grinning, "Magazine." As if that explained anything.

"Ah," Russia said, obviously still confused.

"So, you wanna come in?" America stepped to the side, allowing the larger nation into his house. As Russia passed, America quickly looked in the small mirror by the door, adjusting his hair and glasses.

"So, what's up?" he asked, turning. Russia was picking up the couch, putting it back in its proper position. America came forward to help, but before he'd taken a step the large piece of furniture had already been moved.

"We have not seen each other in a long time," the taller man said, smiling. America noted that it was the fake smile, used on everyone else.

"Yeah, since we got out of the hospital," he agreed.

"Da. Do you think it has been too long?"

America opened his mouth, but the double meaning came to him just before he said anything. Too long? Did Russia mean that it had been too long since they'd…did he think that things would have changed? It was definitely a possibility.

"No," America said, carefully plotting his answer. "Not too long."

"So you would like to wait longer?"

Darn it. So either answer would have been a trap. "Do you think it's been too long?" Take that.

Russia smiled, but it seemed a bit sad. "Never."

"Considering the circumstances, I'd rather not be anywhere near Belarus the next time I see you."

"Understandable," Russia said, his smile warming up a little.

"In fact," America smiled evilly, "I'd rather not be near anyone the next time I see you."

Russia looked surprised for a moment before raising his eyebrows. He stepped toward America, who was still by the mirror. "I do not see anyone else now."

"Hold your horses, big guy. We have some catching up to do first."

Russia got a strangely devious look on his face. "First?"

"We'll get to that. Sit down."

Russia sat down, a slightly amused look on his face. "Well then, what would you like to catch up on?"

"I dunno. Stuff. How's your back doing?"

"Fine. Next question."

"C'mon. Don't be a smartass."

"I will be whatever I wish."

"But it's no fun that way."

"Alright. How is your nose?"

"Good. I just got the stuff off of it a few days ago. Hurt like hell, though."

"I see."

America sighed sharply. "How about we talk about…"

"America?" Russia interrupted. America stopped talking, looking at the other man in surprise. "I came here with a question."

"Oh," America said, giving an apologetic smile. He came over to sit down across from Russia, in one of the beige armchairs. "Ask away."

There was a pause. "Do you still feel the same way?"

Oh, how had he seen that one coming? America stared at Russia for a second, biting his lip. The thing was, he didn't exactly know how to answer the question. Not that he hadn't thought about it. He'd just never quite reached a conclusion.

But honesty was the best policy, right? That's what Abe Lincoln would have said, so it must have been a good idea. So now he was going to be honest.

"I don't know," he said, his chest clenching with regret for what he was saying. "In all honesty, I don't really know if I ever did."

There was silence. America avoided looking at Russia for a moment, before his conscience got the better of him and he looked up. His eyes met purple ones, and he immediately felt angry with himself. Note to self: Honesty is not _always_ the best policy.

Suddenly, America felt the need to say something. "Um, but it's not like I didn't…" he trailed off, unsure of exactly what he was trying to say.

Russia shook his head, his usual smile plastering itself back onto his face. "It is okay. What did you want to talk about?"

Goddammit. America could almost see Russia closing himself up, reverting back to the usual attitude he used when around others. There was the slightly pleasant look there, the one that America hadn't seen at all the last time he'd been with him.

"No, I didn't mean it that way, okay?"

The look on Russia's face turned a little darker. "Then how did you mean it?"

America truly didn't know. He bit his lip nervously, his mind immediately flicking back to the dream that he'd had more than a month ago. It had faded a bit with age, but now it came back in perfect clarity. Russia being so depressed…

"Not like I said it. I mean, I wanted it then, I know that, but…it's not like I was leading you on..." Even though that's exactly what it sounded like. America internally cursed himself.

"I understand," Russia said politely. "It was just an experiment, after all."

Suddenly, the image of Russia, bleeding and about to collapse flooded America's vision. Russia's eyes had been so deep, so expressive. And then he'd said…he'd actually said…

"Dude, I'm sorry. That wasn't the way I wanted to put it."

"Different words, same meaning."

"But that _wasn't_ the way I meant it."

"Once again, then: How did you mean it?"

"I'm just not sure, okay? I didn't mean…and the last time, we kind of figured it out, but then you left and I wasn't really sure anymore…" God, what was he saying?

"I would not want to make you do anything you were not sure about."

"But…"

"I'm sorry I troubled you," Russia said, standing. America felt entirely helpless as he watched the other man walk across to the door. "It was nice to see you again."

"Come on, you don't have to go," America said, following Russia to the door.

"I leave when I have no more reason to stay."

"No!"

America leaned forward, planting his hand firmly on the door. Russia sighed heavily, his breath containing what seemed to be irritation.

"America, you know I am stronger than you. Please go sit down."

"No," America said stubbornly, putting more weight on the door for emphasis. "We have to talk."

Russia closed his eyes, the hint of a smile reaching his lips. "I think we have said enough."

"I can't just let you leave like this!"

"How would you like me to leave, then?" Russia asked, his voice suddenly loud and biting. "Pretending to be satisfied with a lie?"

"It's not a lie, okay? I kind of like you!"

"Oh, that changes everything," Russia said, his voice filled with fake mirth. "I will only be 'kind of' _despondent_ now."

America made a small noise of annoyance. "Okay, I more than kind of like you! I like you a lot!"

Russia's face was dark now, filled with both anger and…sadism. He had a bit of a smile on his face, but there was no happiness. "I do not believe you."

"It's true, okay? I don't lie!"

"Oh, of course not. Not a false word leaves your angelic little lips, da? I, on the other hand…"

"Just stop it, okay?"

"Am I irritating you? Oh, I _am_ sorry…"

"Just shut up and listen to me—"

"I will make sure that your majesty does not have to deal with me anymore—"

"I love you!"

Silence.

Russia had his mouth open, no doubt about to make another biting comment, but he didn't say anything. America looked up at the other nation, eyes wide. Oh, God, don't let him laugh, please don't let him laugh…

"America…" Russia stared blankly at the door. He took a deep breath. "You are just saying that."

America took his hand off the door. He looked down at the floor for a second, mind wiped completely clean. "No," he said quietly, his arms wrapping around Russia's chest.

They stayed that way for a moment. Russia looked down at the younger nation, who was now burying his face into the former's coat.

"Are you…" Russia began, swallowing. "Are you telling the truth?"

America looked up, eyes wide. "Mmhmm."

For a second there was no answer. And then, "I love you, too."

"I'm sorry," America said quietly, leaving the embrace. He bit his lip. "I was kind of a dick."

"Not any more than I was," Russia said, smiling a little at America's choice of terminology. Then he put his arm around the shorter nation. "Were you really telling the truth?"

America nodded, looking up into Russia's eyes again. Where they had been harsh before they were now light and happy. Almost involuntarily, he smiled.

Suddenly, an idea came to his mind. "You know, this is the part of the movie where you kiss me," he said, smiling sweetly.

Russia seemed surprised, but he quickly hid it. "Is that right?"

"Yes."

"And we are in a movie?"

"At the moment, yes."

"Ah," Russia said, smiling. "It is best we do not disappoint the viewers, then."

"Exactly. Do it for the viewers," America said, grinning. He looped his arms around the back of Russia's neck.

Their lips met, lightly at first. Then, America pushed himself up closer to Russia's body, reveling in the touch. Russia pushed his tongue past America's lips, deepening the kiss.

America made a small noise, melting into Russia's chest. A tingle went from his lips down to his groin, a tingle that turned into a constant buzz. He discovered, with slight amusement, that just this kiss was turning him on to a great level.

After a few seconds, America felt Russia's lips wandering from his own. They started across his jaw, planting feathery kisses in a trail down to his neck. His tongue darted out, touching lightly the sensitive skin on America's neck.

America took in a sharp breath, his hand coming up to rest on the back of Russia's head. The taller nation continued up and down America's neck, each touch and kiss eliciting a new reaction. His hands wandered to the hem of America's shirt, gently tugging up.

America immediately lifted his arms, allowing the shirt to be pulled off and discarded. He pressed himself up against Russia again, the feeling of the smooth fabric of the long coat on his chest. Russia, however, had other ideas.

He pushed America away slightly, bending over a little so his lips could touch down on America's collarbone. Then he started going lower, finally brushing across one of the smaller nation's nipples.

America made a noise that sounded like both a gasp and a moan, his fingers tightening in Russia's hair. Russia smiled a little, letting his tongue swing around in a circle.

"You shouldn't be allowed to do that," America said quietly, his breath picking up. Russia chuckled a little, dragging his tongue over to the other side of America's chest.

"Until it is illegal," Russia said, smiling. His hand trailed down America's back, the backs of his fingernails running lightly across the skin. America's back arched a bit, and his hand went down to clutch at Russia's arm.

The feeling flooding through his body was something he'd never really experienced before. The dream…the dream hadn't had half of the sensation. He felt Russia's lips moving down from his chest, leaving tiny kisses as they went.

They reached the hem of America's jeans, and he immediately tightened his grip on Russia's hair.

"Ah…don't…" America said, biting his lip. The biting lip habit was coming back now, wasn't it?

"Of course," Russia said, standing back up. His scarf, usually up over his chin, was down below it, and for the first time in a while America was able to see his entire face.

"I-I mean, it's not that I…" America tried to explain. Russia quieted him by pressing their lips together.

"I understand," he said. America felt a tingling go down his spine. Was he this sensitive now just to Russia's voice?

"Are you cold?" Russia must have seen the shiver.

"Um…" America weighed the possible answers. Yes seemed to be the most promising one. "Yeah."

Russia smiled, momentarily letting America go. The younger nation watched as he undid the clasps on his coat, pulling it open. He was wearing a loose shirt.

Carefully, he pulled America into his embrace again, this time enclosed within the coat. Only as Russia's unexpected warmth flooded him did America realize how cold he'd actually been.

He tucked his arms into his body, leaning against Russia. He let his eyes close momentarily, basking in the warmth and comfort.

And then the door opened.

Russia jerked his head up, eyes wide. America looked up, an expression of complete shock on his face. He half expected it to be Belarus.

Instead, it was Lithuania.

"Hey!" he said happily, smiling at them as though he didn't notice the position they were in. "How are you doing?"

"Um…" America watched in confusion as Lithuania nearly started bouncing across the room. He was grinning, something that rarely happened with him.

"Litva?" Russia seemed genuinely confused. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, I just wanted to say hi and I had something to tell America," Lithuania said. He hadn't started stuttering, and he didn't seem intimidated by Russia's presence.

"What?" America asked, making no move to break out of Russia's embrace.

"Well," Lithuania said, nearly shaking his hands in excitement. "I'm going on a date with Belarus!"

He seemed like he was about to explode, grinning ear-to-ear. Russia raised his eyebrows. "Do you not remember the last date?" he asked, actually sounding concerned.

"Well, I know that last time she broke a few of my fingers but that was just then and this time she promised not to hurt me," he said quickly, smiling. "And that includes psychological pain. I made sure. So we're going to go out to see a movie and then we're going to have dinner and it's going to be amazing!"

America fished one of his hands out of Russia's coat to flash Lithuania a high-five. Only then did the two of them realize the awkwardness of the situation. Russia let go of America, who quickly stepped back.

"Oh, sorry!" Lithuania said suddenly. "Was I interrupting you?"

America gave a strange smile. "Not at all. Have fun on the date."

"I hope Belarus has fun…and look, I know she was kind of bad to you guys, but—"

"Kind of?" America asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well, a little more than kind of but she and I talked a lot and now she doesn't hate me anymore I don't think. And she's really sorry for what she did to you guys and I promise she's turned over a new leaf! So, the date's tonight and I'm really nervous," Lithuania said. America wondered where he was getting time to breathe.

"I'm sure you will be fine," Russia said. Lithuania looked at him in surprise. An encouragement, from Russia? Maybe America really was good for him.

"Thanks!" Lithuania was smiling again. "I have to go now, but I just had to tell someone and I was around here, so I just decided that I'd come to your house, and I'm sorry and you can go back to whatever you were doing now. Bye!"

And he was gone.

"No more caffeine for Toris," Russia mused, watching the door.

"No more stress for Toris. Or more sleep." America corrected, reaching for his shirt. Russia grabbed his wrist.

"I do not think you will need that for a while," he said, giving the smaller nation an evil grin.

America smiled, cocking his head. "Speaking of things we won't be needing…" he said as he pulled Russia's coat off his shoulders.

"True," Russia said, his hand coming up to America's cheek. "Very true."

And so began their fifth kiss.

...

_*cries* It's over! This is officially the first non-oneshot fanfic I have EVER completed. In my life. In fact, this is the longest story I have ever finished in my life. Yeah, I need to work a little harder :P_

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed this. Special thanks to everyone who reviewed more than once (you know who you are ^_^)._

_If you find any typos you win the internet._

_Please review! Did you like the chapter? The whole story? I love you all! *huggles* (Unless you find that creepy; in that case I love you from a respectable distance.)_

_ps. The song playing as I finished this was very much a victory song :D It was "Great Spirits" from Brother Bear XD Yay for animated movie soundtracks?_


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